Though it stems from episode 3-13, this scene itself is set at some point in season 4.

Cartographical, my pet, you are wonderful.

Chapter 17: 3x13, Knockdown

Thank you. For having my back in there.

Other than Ryan and Esposito sending a few unusually inquisitive looks at them, Castle notices that today has been relatively quiet. Beckett checks in with Gates, leaving him at her desk ("You know, Castle, honestly, she really doesn't like you."), and he tweets a few pictures of geckos to his followers, waiting for Beckett to eventually return from the breakroom with her coffee, take her seat, and continue pretending she doesn't know he's staring at her while she clears her email inbox.

He hears footsteps, but it's not her. "Castle. Bro. Walk with me."

"Well – I – Beckett's – " Castle gestures vaguely towards the breakroom, trying to indicate his belief that he's currently assigned to his seat and expected to stay where he is.

"Seriously. Try to have some balls, man. I'll get you back to your babysitter."

"Uh – okay." Castle shrugs but follows. Esposito leads silently, nodding terse hellos to the officers he passes. He doesn't say anything. Castle has a vaguely bad feeling about this. He can't pin down anything specific. But the back of Esposito's neck looks highly serious. He wonders if maybe he should have insisted on waiting for Beckett. Beckett protects him.

They end up in the conference room. Castle turns to ask what's up, but before he gets out a word, Esposito claps a hand on his shoulder, yanks him down into a chair, and shuts the door behind them.

"I think we need to have a little talk, Mr. Castle."

Mr. Castle? Seriously? Are they playing CIA and someone forgot to tell him? "What?"

"I have a few questions about your behavior towards Detective Beckett."

"What?"

"Cut the crap, Castle. I know you kissed her."

"What? How?" No way. No way in hell he could know –

"Actually, you just told me." Damn it. Walked into that one. Castle growls at himself mentally. Esposito shrugs. "And you know, when we don't have an active case, Gates has us organizing old files. Ryan and I have been doing that all morning. Checked through some stuff from last year. And we just happened to read Vince Tagliaferro's statement. You know. Guard. Worked with Lockwood."

Guard…Lockwood…

Oh.

That's how they found out.

"I won't bore you with details, Castle, but let me just tell you, the man was extremely eloquent about the 'big guy and the hot drunk chick' and the amount of saliva that was exchanged before he mysteriously blacked out and woke up in handcuffs."

Castle glares at Esposito, whose expression never changes. This is not good. And where the hell is Beckett? Why isn't she here? She makes decisions. "Alright. Fine. It's true."

"So you kissed her and then what? Pretended it never happened?"

"No! It's not like that!"

"You trying to put the moves on her?"

"We were trying to distract the guard! To save your lives, I might add." Castle glares.

But Esposito doesn't back down. "Sure, bro. Right. You work with Beckett, smokin'-hot cop. You follow her around for years, write sex scenes about her, and you want me to think sucking face with her just happens to be the first thing that jumps into your brain? Especially when you know she can't stop you?"

"I wasn't using her, Esposito." Castle glares. How could he possibly think –

"Yeah. I certainly hope you weren't," Esposito replies, folding his arms, his face dark. Castle's heart sinks.

Beckett. Please come save me.

Beckett's looking through the break room cabinets, eyeing a few types of coffee creamer (hazelnut is sounding good today) when she's uncomfortably aware of Ryan standing nearby, hands stuffed in his pockets, watching her patiently. Not getting coffee. Not saying anything. Just waiting.

She has a bad feeling about this.

"Something you need?" she asks, pulling down the hazelnut flavor and fishing out a clean-ish looking spoon. Good enough, she decides. She rinses it off just to be safe.

"Nah, just wanted to ask how you're doing."

"How I'm doing?" She quirks an eyebrow. "Seriously. What's going on?"

Ryan shrugs. "Ah, nothing. I just – Esposito and I were wondering something."

"Wondering what?" Ryan is unusually slow today.

"Well – see, remember when Lockwood had the two of us captured? And you and Castle managed to get past that guard outside?" He still looks innocent. Too innocent.

Kate stops. Sets her coffee down.

She turns around and fixes him with her steeliest look. "What's this about, Ryan?" He sputters but doesn't answer. Her eyes narrow. "Where's Esposito? Where's Castle?"

Ryan stays silent, but then she understands and she's out the door.

It only takes her a moment to find Esposito and Castle glaring at each other in the conference room. Ryan tags along, trying to get her to stop ("Beckett, wait. I can explain – "), but she forces the door open and storms in. From the look on Castle's face, it's exactly what she thought it was.

She folds her arms. "Cut the crap, guys. Just say it."

Esposito and Ryan glance at each other, mutter a little, and finally Esposito nods. Ryan clears his throat. "Ah, Beckett. Esposito and I read Vince Tagliaferro's statement this morning."

Her heart sinks. She knows that name. And she knows exactly what's in that report. She looks at Castle, who's watching her with a quiet, set expression. But something's off. He looks shaken. Like Esposito's said something that really upset him.

She sighs, because there's really no way around this. "Okay. You guys know."

"You two kissed."

Something flutters in her chest (she still hasn't gotten used to thinking of it so matter-of-factly), but she resolutely keeps her face impassive. Hopefully if she downplays it, they'll lose interest. "Yes."

"You never said anything before. Why'd you hide it?" Esposito cuts in suspiciously.

Castle's still not saying anything, obviously letting her take the lead. He still looks bothered. She'll ask him about it later, after Chip and Dale here have finished this ridiculous interrogation. "Because we knew you'd make a big deal about it. It wasn't real, guys. Castle kissed me to distract the guard. That's all that happened."

Ryan narrows his eyes. "That's all? One kiss, and nothing else?"

"Yes." In the corner of her eye, she sees Castle nodding in agreement.

Ryan and Esposito look at each other for a second, and then they turn back to Beckett, having obviously decided to ignore the surprisingly silent Castle. Ryan lets out an awkward cough before saying, "Yeahhhh…we kinda don't believe you."

"What do you mean?"

Esposito snorts. "Come on. You two? Seriously? You can't tell me it's nothing."

"Sorry to disappoint you, guys. But there's no story here." She tugs Castle's elbow, and he stands up. "And this little interrogation? It's over."

She and Castle leave the guys in the conference room, and she makes a quick detour to go reclaim the coffee she left in the breakroom before returning to her desk. Castle joins her. He sits, puts his hands in his lap, and just generally looks so chastened that she's genuinely worried. "Castle, are you okay? I'm sorry the boys decided to pull this stupid prank, but if Esposito said something to you – "

"He accused me of using you." His voice is so quiet she almost doesn't catch the words. Her eyes get wide, her mouth falling open in surprise. "Said I took advantage of the situation, took advantage of you."

Kate blinks. Oh. Her stomach sinks. "He doesn't really think that. He was just playing bad cop."

"I know."

She twists a pen in her hands. If Esposito decided to try the full-scale 'little brother' routine, she has a feeling there was more involved than just glaring. "What did he threaten to do to you?"

That gets a brief, wry almost-smile. "It wasn't so much him. More like every guy in this building." (The brotherhood. It never fails. Esposito's threat isn't entirely idle, either.)

"You know he was wrong, Castle. I know. I know that's not what you did." It's not who he is. She knows that. That kiss – she's not going to say it was overdue, but – well –

He shrugs. "It bugged me. That he could even say it."

"I'm sorry." It tugs at the pit of her chest, twisting the space around her heart. Because that dark, desperate night, with wind stinging her cheeks and the flush of adrenaline curling through her veins, there was a moment, just a fraction of a moment when he grabbed her and she saw the intent in his face, knew what he was about to do – and the notion flitted through her mind. He's doing this on purpose.

It vanished, along with most rational thought, the moment his body and his mouth pressed against hers. But now, seeing the gloom in his eyes, Kate feels the sudden overwhelming need to reassure him. To tell him he didn't push her. She almost – almost – reaches for his hand, but she catches herself, taking a breath. "Castle. You did the right thing. You caught me by surprise, yeah. But you did right. I've never been angry with you about it. Don't let some idiot detective tell you otherwise."

A half smile graces his lips – the lips she's kissed pretty damn thoroughly, though she suppresses that thought as soon as it appears – and though there's a long pause, she knows it's all right.

When he finally speaks, it's not what she's expecting. "You lied."

She blinks. "What? No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did." His voice gets lower, softer, that gravelly tone. It's too intimate. She swallows hard, has to stop herself from crossing her legs. "You told them about 'the kiss.' We both know there was a second one."

The flush, the sudden tactile memory of his lip under her teeth, rises up unbidden in her mind. She blushes hotly and has to look away. And for the first time maybe ever, he takes the hint, falls silent. She tells herself not to look at him, a resolve that lasts several seconds.

The rest of the afternoon is a nightmare. They have no open case, so she has no investigation, no murderboard to occupy her mind. Just Castle. Sitting patiently in his chair. A visual reminder of that specific memory she's been suppressing for a year. And now it's looping non-stop through her mind and under her skin and she has no idea how to stop it.

She has to stop looking at him, because she always misses his eyes and somehow ends up at his mouth, and that's bad because she can't help herself and she keeps remembering the way he grabbed her and his fingers on her neck and that hungry look in his eyes and the sudden shock of his mouth on hers and then his tongue and it makes her think about dragging him into the empty observation room and locking the door and feverish hands and fumbling with buttons and zippers and hot skin and writhing and oh God oh God don't stop –

- and it's all too vivid and if she doesn't stop right now she's going to do something so very, very stupid.

She's not going to offer to drive him home. Kate has spent entirely too much time around Castle today, and the heat pulsing through her veins every time she catches herself daydreaming about all the deserted places in the precinct they could slip into and shut the door behind them has fully convinced her that she is not stable enough to spend any more time alone with him right now. Tomorrow she'll get it under control. She's not going to give him a ride home tonight. Everything will be –

"Hey, uh, could I get a ride home?"

"Sure."

She swears mentally at her idiotic reflex, but it's too late to back out now, with him following quietly at her heels.

He says nothing as they take the elevator downstairs, though she sees him glancing at her in her periphery. She's terribly aware of him, sees every motion, every quick breath. His movements are quicker than usual. A little jerky. His breathing is shallow. The realization makes heat flutter through her skin. She needs to stop looking at him.

She resolutely doesn't look at him on the way into the parking garage. Ignores the tingle sweeping from the crown of her head through her body. Pretends she hasn't been thinking about it for hours. The garage is deserted – she's often one of the last to leave – giving her no witnesses to save her from herself. She swears the universe is conspiring to ruin her today.

What really scares her is that it's working.

Kate grits her teeth. Twenty seconds to get to the car, fifteen minute drive to his place. She can handle this. Everything was fine before the guys went on their misguided quest for information. She's fine. She's managed a year without kissing him again. She can manage tonight.

Until his footsteps get closer. No. This isn't supposed to happen. He's supposed to give her space. She swallows. All he has to do –

"Kate."

She knows. She knows exactly what he's going to do. She doesn't stop him.

She takes in a breath, reaching for her car keys, but it's not even a surprise when she feels the hand on her arm. He turns her around, and her throat tightens around all the words she could possibly say right now, and he's so terribly gentle as he settles her back against the car. And then her eyes are shutting and his body is pressing against her so warm and perfect. And then he's kissing her and she can't breathe.

Her lips open under the firm glide of his tongue, and he's demanding and pleading and seductive all at once. His hands tangle in her hair, turning her face towards his, giving him more access to her mouth. Kate can't think, can't move. He's slow, deliberate, relentless as he devours her, and his kiss is overwhelming and perfect and consuming and sweetly, painfully inevitable.

A heavy wave of weakness settles in her limbs, and she finds herself limp, spineless, clinging to him, whimpering softly as her sucks at her lips and his hands cradle her face, his thumb sliding over the curve of her jaw, and if this is what it's like to kiss him (for no reason other than she absolutely needs his mouth working over hers like he's the last breath of oxygen she has in the world) then she has no idea why they haven't done this every day since the first time her tongue was in his mouth.

He finally lets her go, and Kate actually stumbles a little, her hands clutching instinctively at his arms. Holy shit.

"I think – " she swallows – "I think maybe that's why we never talked about it."

Castle lets out a noise that seems to be agreement. His eyes are still a little glazed. His breath is coming fast and hard, his chest pressed against hers, and she can't stop her head from resting on his shoulder.

They shouldn't have done this. Shouldn't –

(I love you. I love you, Kate.)

She squeezes her eyes shut against the sudden memory, that echo in her mind of the last thing she heard before everything went dark. It's too much. It's all too much.

His hand slides tentatively over the line of her back, like he's afraid she's going to push him away, but she doesn't. And then it hits her in a blinding flash of clarity: he already loved her. When he kissed her that first time, he was already in love. He said the words only a few months later. But she'd already seen the look in his eyes that he was never quite able to hide.

The realization that their first kiss was a farce, a distraction, a hasty, unplanned mess for someone else's benefit, casts a shadow over her heart, knotting it, putting a tightness in her chest. She's cautiously optimistic when it comes to the two of them. And somehow she needs it to have started better than that. She needs their story to begin with them if it's ever going to work.

His hand comes to rest on her shoulder, rubbing gentle circles, and the touch is warm and reassuring and perfect, even through her heavy jacket, and it's so utterly distracting she almost doesn't hear him speak. "What now?"

She shuts her eyes. "I don't know."

The drive to his loft is quiet. She's not sure what to say. She's not sure exactly how she's feeling. She's not sure about a lot of things right now.

Outside his building, under the hazy golden glow of the streetlamps, she pulls to the curb and puts the car in park. She traces the curve of the steering wheel, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, trying to figure out what kind of goodnight could adequately express the confusing muddle of thoughts bouncing off the corners of her mind right now. It's an unbalanced, formless, bubbling swirl of fear and hope and love and shyness and desire and someday and thank you.

She turns to find Castle unfastening his seatbelt slowly. Like he's in no rush to leave. He glances up, and her breath hitches because the way he's looking at her, the longing in his face, the darkness in his eyes, she knows. She knows exactly what he wants. Knows exactly how he feels.

And before she can stop herself, she leans across the front seat, puts a hand to his cheek, and kisses him gently on the lips.

It's soft and delicate, and he kisses her back so tenderly her chest aches and her eyes sting and her blood sings and her skin vibrates and she is so overwhelmingly in love that she's never, ever going to recover. And she's terrified.

She ends the kiss, but he doesn't move away. "I'm going to kiss you every chance you give me, Kate," he murmurs, his breath skating over her cheek. She sighs shakily, her eyes fluttering. "Every chance."

He brushes his lips softly over hers one last time before opening the passenger's door and stepping out of the car. The golden half-light falls onto his face, lighting up the lines of his cheekbones and jaw, shadowing his eyes, and Kate's fingers tighten around the steering wheel.

(I love you.)

She's not sure whose voice is saying it in her mind now. Once it was just his. Now maybe it's hers.

"Good night, Kate."

He moves to shut the car door, and she suddenly needs to answer. Needs him to understand. She has to try. The words well up in her mouth, bright and awkward and effervescent and unplanned. But right.

"Till tomorrow, Castle."