a/n: Inspired by a conversation with Polly Lynn about my issues - I mean, Beckett's issues, obviously - regarding Nathan Fillion wearing this.

Except they might be my issues.

Chapter 57: 2x1, Deep In Death

Don't worry, we're still mad at him.

Kate's having a good morning. She wakes up less tired than usual, gets in a good long run, and most surprising of all, her hair decides to cooperate.

It's been a nightmare recently. Objectively, she'd known that growing her hair long again would result in an awkward phase. And there are days she seriously considers just chopping it short again, back to the simplicity of her old pageboy cut. But she's ready for a change. She needs a fresh start. Something new.

And she's told herself, more than once, that it has nothing to do with him.

"Beckett? A word?"

She's had all of five minutes at her desk when Montgomery leans out of his office.

"Sir?"

He obligingly waits for her to take a seat before continuing. "Have you heard from Castle recently?"

The name makes her flinch. She's gotten particularly good at avoiding that name in the past few months.

"No."

She deleted the voicemails without listening to them. But Montgomery doesn't seem to catch the lie.

"Interesting."

Her heart sinks. "What is it?"

"I'd assumed you knew - he's coming in today. Cosmo's doing an article on him and his ride-along work, and they're doing a photo shoot, here at the precinct."

Her stomach churns, the coffee she drank earlier suddenly souring in her mouth, and she can't quite come up with words.

"You okay?" Montgomery asks, his face suddenly concerned. Clearly he hadn't realized how hard she's been working at getting past this man.

"Fine, sir."

Kate wonders, too late, if maybe she should stop hiding things.

An hour later, Kate turns to see the uniforms leading in a pair of photographers with multiple camera bags and press badges around their necks.

She'd toyed with the idea of bailing, either finding busy work to take her to One Police Plaza or maybe seeing if she can work with the patrols today. But the thought of hiding from Rick Castle in her own space sets her teeth on edge. He is wrong. He's the one who ended whatever they had.

She has no reason to run off. This is her world, not his.

"Yo, Beckett." Esposito leans back in his chair. "Did you know about this?"

"Nope."

He exchanges a glance with Ryan. "I know the captain said the mayor gave this the okay, but - if you want, we could find an excuse for you to head over to archives for today."

She can't help but smile. Her loyal, adorable little brothers. "Thanks, guys. But it's fine."

"We could take him out back," Ryan offers helpfully. "Rough him up."

"Not necessary," she assures him. "But it's the thought that counts."

Of course Richard Castle can't just walk into the precinct like a normal human.

His grand entrance is a spectacle, complete with a small horde of chattering handlers from the magazine. The floor goes from tranquil to hectic in a moment, the air buzzing with loud talkers and equipment humming and camera flashes.

Kate's at her desk when he appears. She hears his voice before she sees him.

He strolls out of the elevator like he owns it, chatting easily with one of the reporters beside him. He's suave, charming, his hair perfectly combed. He looks good. He looks really, really good. He's had a good summer.

Everything rises up in her throat like bile. It's a heady mix of cold anger, a block of ice that hurts her chest, and the hot, liquid flare pouring through her veins, a heat that's filled her body since the first time she saw him.

She can feel the flush on her face, but she does nothing, just watches. She sees Castle unconsciously stand up straighter. His eyes immediately dart to her desk, and for just a second, she can almost forget everything else, because the quick, easy warmth of his gaze meeting hers feels like the most natural thing in the world.

It's about your mother.

She clenches her jaw and looks away, as deliberately as she can. They were always about subtext, weren't they?

You're not welcome here, Castle.

She hates him - she really, really does - and then it gets worse. Infinitely worse.

Kate modeled in high school; she knows how photo shoots work. She's not surprised to see makeup artists fussing away, and the one harried, stressed-looking intern whose entire job seems to be getting barked at while adjusting clothing.

Castle appears from the men's room, and Kate swallows hard.

She hates the suit. It's almost him, but it's not quite right. It's too flashy, the pinstripes too ostentatious, and it's close but it's just wrong and she hates it. It's what Rick Castle looks like to the outside world, sharp and expensive and loud and too much.

Then two strippers making a feeble attempt at being cops saunter in, and Ryan and Esposito instantly seem to warm to the situation. Great.

The director has the stripper-cops drape themselves over Castle, who looks like he's enjoying this far too much. It's only then that she sees it: under his jacket, he's wearing a shoulder holster.

He keeps easing his jacket back, flashing the leather straps, and it's just so stupid. It's stupid, and there is no earthly reason she should find it attractive. There's nothing about a leather holster with a fake gun that should make her face get hot and her hands sweat and give her endless ideas about creative things she can do to him that involve unbuttoning and unbuckling and tugging and leaving that holster on him.

Prickles of heat are burning her skin, her heart pounding against her ribcage, and when the intern carefully unbuttons another of Castle's buttons and tugs his shirt open, Kate realizes she's actually, officially in hell.

She's sitting at her desk, biting her lip and trying desperately to ignore everything, and then she hears Castle one of the strippers ask Castle if she can get his autograph after this.

"Sure," he tells her. "Where would you like it?"

Kate stands up and walks away, her ears ringing.

She slips into the emergency stairwell because no one uses these stairs. It's quiet but for the hum of the lights, and for the first time since this morning, she shuts her eyes and takes in a long, slow breath. She just needs a moment to collect herself and -

Her blood pressure skyrockets as the door opens. She knows who it is. No one else spends so much time and effort chasing her when she doesn't want to be found.

"Beckett?"

She makes the mistake of opening her eyes. The door shuts behind Castle, who's staring at her earnestly. His hair is gleaming under the light, his eyes bright, and the straps of that stupid holster are peeking out from the jacket she hates, the leather framing his broad chest, running up to the strong line of his shoulders. The top three buttons of his shirt are undone. He has the faint sheen of lipgloss on his cheek.

She'd had words, but they're gone. Her whole body is burning.

"Beckett? I just - wanted -"

He needs to stop talking.

"Shut up. Just shut up."

She doesn't wait for him to respond; she shoves him back against the wall and kisses him hard, punishing, angry, and a little biting.

He doesn't give her a chance to think about what she's doing before he reacts, sliding his hands over her hips, kissing her back. He turns her around and her back hits the wall as his tongue slips into her mouth. Kate gasps, her body tightening, her hands sliding under his lapels to push the jacket she hates off his shoulders. It hits the floor and he lets out a huff, but she doesn't care, because he's finally not talking and then she nips at his lower lip and a deep groan rumbles through his chest. His hips rock into hers, pinning her between the wall and the hard planes of his body, and she can feel the heat of him against her.

His knee slips between hers and she shivers at the sudden pressure right where she needs it, sparks lighting up her skin. She feels deliciously weak, her body quivering with the inevitable, and it's -

He pulls away suddenly, and it takes her a moment to realize they're not kissing anymore. She tries to suck in a breath.

"Beckett." He swallows hard. "Kate."

She freezes, and he must take it as acquiescence, because he leans forward, slower this time, and softly presses his lips to hers.

He's kissing her too gently, and she can't handle this, of all things. This is wrong.

This is worse than anything else.

Kate pushes him away with shaky hands, wiping her mouth. She needs to breathe. She needs to get away from him.

She searches blindly for the door handle, slipping out of the stairwell, ignoring his voice behind her.

Rick stares blankly at the window of the break room.

He's been standing here for several minutes. He'd thought about making coffee, but that takes brain power he doesn't have available at the moment. His brain is still in the back stairwell.

He lets out a short breath. None of this makes sense. She freezes him out, then when he decides to try his luck, everything goes haywire. He was going to ask her to dinner. But then he couldn't, because her tongue was in his mouth.

And then she bolted, leaving him more than a little worked up.

But damn. She's - just so -

Esposito leans in. "Castle, you got a second?"

He's not entirely sure this is a good idea. Esposito is looking at him with an expression that might charitably be described as pissed.

"Um - I guess."

Esposito shuts the door firmly behind him and stands there, his arms folded over his chest. Rick gets the distinct impression he needs to start apologizing.

"So what is it?"

"What do you - oof."

Esposito shoves him back against the wall. "What the hell is wrong with you? I never should have let you look at that file."

"I didn't mean to -"

"It ruined her life, man. You have no idea what that did to her. She told you to leave. But now you think you can just parade back in with this stupid show?"

Castle stares at Esposito, who still looks about three seconds away from giving him a bloody nose that the makeup artists will grumble about.

"It's just a business thing."

"Do you know how long it took her to even tell Ryan and me about her mom?"

Castle blinks.

Shit.

"You took the one thing that hurts her more than anything, and you used it. And I don't even think you understand how much you hurt her."

"I didn't mean to."

"You think that makes it okay?"

His stomach is starting to twist, a dull, leaden ache. He feels sick.

"Does she hate me?"

"Do you deserve anything else?"

Krystyn pokes her head in the door, looking as frazzled as usual. She doesn't bat an eye at Esposito's aggressive stance. She's an intern, so she's probably used to worse. "Mr. Castle? Five minutes."

She ducks out and Castle exhales shakily. "I don't know how to fix it."

"'Fix it?' Seriously?" Esposito shakes his head. "You screwed up, Castle. Why can't you just admit you were wrong?"

He stalks out, leaving Castle to stare blankly at the window again.

Krystyn looks a little panicked when he tells her he needs another ten minutes, but she just nods and scurries off to relay that to the staff.

Kate's at her desk. Her face is perfectly calm, even as her eyes flick up to him, but he can sense the tension under her skin. Leave me alone is written clearly on her face.

He doesn't know how to do this. This is her desk, her territory. She's using the public space as a shield; she knows he won't do anything in front of an audience.

Maybe she knows she won't, either.

His chair is still there beside her desk, and stupidly, his throat gets tight.

The silence stretches beyond acceptable into uncomfortable, and he realizes she's just going to let him stand here.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

That gets her attention. For the first time all day, she looks up at him and he knows she's actually listening.

"What I did was wrong. I violated your trust, I opened old wounds, and I did not respect your wishes." He swallows hard. "And - and I shouldn't have tried to take advantage of - whatever this is between us."

Her lips part, like she's about to say something, but he can't stop now. It's all come flooding out.

"And if we're not going to see each other again, you deserve to know - I'm very, very sorry."

The thick, leaden weight in his chest dissolves, bitter and clean, and it still hurts but he knows he's finally done something right.

She says nothing, doesn't move, doesn't even blink. And he realizes if we're not going to see each other might be real.

He never wanted that.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and slowly walks away, back towards the photo shoot, where he probably belongs.

"Castle."

His heart leaps in his chest, and he turns back to her desk to find her twisting her hands.

"See you tomorrow."