A/N: As you may or may not have seen on my Tumblr, I decided once-a-week updates aren't any fun for anyone, so I'll be updating on Wednesdays and Saturdays from here on out, unless otherwise noted. Enjoy!

Six

Richard Castle was in trouble. Oh, so very much trouble.

At thirty-eight years old, a grown man with a daughter, he was afraid to go to work that morning. Legitimately afraid, because he wasn't sure what she would do to him; what she would say.

When Beckett kissed him, he could honestly say he was stunned—flabbergasted. He never in his wildest dreams expected her to kiss him like that. In fact, he never thought about them kissing at all. At least, not consciously.

Was he attracted to her? Well, he did have eyes. She was gorgeous beyond description. Even his talents as a writer in another life would fail to accurately describe her beauty. As if that wasn't enough, she was an incredible investigator and an extraordinary person. He had known that fact for a while, but it was confirmed to him without any doubt when he saw how she handled the Coonan case and its aftermath. She was stronger than he ever thought he could be.

When it came right down to it, though, they were partners—coworkers—and the NYPD had very strict rules against interpersonal relationships between detectives (and officers and any combination thereof, for that matter). Though he wasn't one who slept with the rule book under his pillow each night that was one guideline he had chosen to adhere to very early on in his career.

The last thing Castle wanted to do was jeopardize his partnership with Beckett as it was the best he'd ever had. Combining both his partnerships during his days as a beat cop and a detective, Castle had five partners in all. One was horrible, another just so-so, and the other two good. Before meeting Beckett, he would have categorized them as very good and there was certainly nothing wrong with either of them, but after being paired with Beckett everything else seemed to pale in comparison.

On paper, their partnership made no sense. They were separated in age by nearly a decade, which was not the largest generation gap in the history of partnerships, but it certainly put them at different stages in their lives. Their careers had manifested very differently within the NYPD and they came from completely different backgrounds. Yet, somehow, when they were in the field everything clicked.

Her strengths were his weaknesses and vice versa. With very little pre-planning, they could interrogate a subject with a high degree of success, usually alternating their good cop/bad cop roles with little effort. Most surprisingly, they had an uncanny ability to finish each other's thoughts and sentences, a trait that very much amused their coworkers and often earned them a great deal of ribbing, though neither of them seemed to mind.

Castle did not want to give up his working relationship with Beckett for anything and thus he had not allowed any romantic thoughts or feelings for her to enter his conscious mind—until he kissed her. When their lips first met, he was stunned, but then he realized just how wonderful her body felt against his. How warm and soft her lips were in contrast to the heat and fury of her tongue against his.

Suddenly, he wondered how he hadn't thought of her in this way before. My god, she was incredible. That's why he kissed her again. That's why he let her lead him up to her apartment.

And then it happened.

As a worldly man, he had faced the same request from women before (and had happily obliged during many if not all of those instances), but for some reason, those words coming out of the mouth of Kate Beckett hit him like acid to the face. They were wrong; so very wrong.

Kate Beckett was not a woman to treat like a random hookup from a bar. She was not a one night stand he would forget about as soon as he left in the morning. Kate Beckett was a woman to be treasured and explored.

Had she not said those words, he believed there was a possibility they would have slept together that night. Though he rationally knew it was not the best idea, her lips and hands were doing a pretty good job of convincing him otherwise. So, in a way, he was glad her words were the warning that changed the course of his thinking from with his crotch to with his brain.

As he boarded the subway that morning, Castle thought about the best way to convey those feelings to his partner. He reasoning was logical and rational, he knew that, but she would be very, very angry with him. Very angry with him and he wasn't sure she would entertain any explanation from him, no matter how reasonable. At least, not for a little while. Besides, he thought as he rode, perhaps it would be best to have the conversation with her when she wasn't armed.

Walking into the twelfth he felt a few beads of sweat forming at his forehead and muttered a curse under his breath. Relax, Castle, he told himself. She cannot shoot you in the middle of the bullpen. Casual—just keep it casual.

He spotted her at her desk and took a deep breath. With as much normalcy as he could muster, he strolled past her desk and casually set down a coffee cup beside her computer monitor: a skinny latte with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla; her coffee drink of choice and his chosen peace offering. "Morning Beckett," he said, taking his seat as though nothing had changed between them; as though they hadn't kissed for the first time not twelve hours earlier.

Kate's eyes flicked from her computer screen to the disposable coffee cup and then to her partner. He smiled at her; she turned back to her computer monitor.

Castle sat patiently, not saying another word. He did not want to be too obvious, so he hunched down and pretended to be reading an email from his computer screen, but really he was watching her as best he could. It took almost four full minutes, but he finally saw her hand reach out and take the cup. Exhaling with relief that he wasn't wearing the drink, Castle leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest.

So she wasn't speaking with him—that was okay. At least she wasn't screaming at him. He could handle a little silent treatment. They would get their chance to talk; she just needed to warm up to him again first.

It was almost lunchtime before Castle felt safe broaching the subject with her. Anderson and McCreary were bogged down with a double homicide and, as they did not presently have an active case, Castle and Beckett were tasked to visit the workplace of one of the victims and do some standard interviews. Castle allowed Beckett to drive without any protest and thought maybe the car would be the best venue for their conversation. After all, she could hardly assault him while she was driving.

"So," he began, clearing his throat. "About last night…"

Kate's eyes flicked in his direction. "Really?" she asked in a tone indicating great annoyance. "Now?"

"We have to talk about this sometime, Kate," he told her softly. She ignored him. "I just…I just wanted to say that I was sorry, but as your partner—your friend—I respect you too much to, as you so eloquently put it, fuck you."

Kate's upper lip twitched at his comment. She had definitely been tipsy, but the events of the prior evening were fairly clear in her mind. She remembered kissing Castle. She remembered dragging him into her apartment. Most importantly, she remembered how furious she had been with him (and herself) when he'd left so abruptly.

Rather than acknowledge how sweet his sentiments really were, she merely scoffed at him and drummed her fingertips against the steering wheel. "We're not friends, Castle."

"We are friends. Work friends. You've met my daughter and mother. I said hi to your dad that one time he came to take you out to lunch," he explained to her. She said nothing.

Castle furrowed his brow as he watched the traffic ahead of them. They were friends; of course they were friends. Okay, so maybe they didn't really communicate outside of work, but they were partners. They spent every working day together—a situation which by its very nature mandated at least some level of friendship. Though, she did have a somewhat valid point; they rarely spoke about non-work related things unless it was a group discussion in the department. Maybe it was time they changed that.

"Why don't we go to a movie?"

Kate looked over at her partner as though he suggested hopping on a unicorn and flying to Mars. "I think I spend enough time with you as it is."

Castle snapped his fingers and gasped fakely. "Oh that's right—I forgot. Your life has a moratorium on fun."

She chose not to acknowledge this dig, and instead chose a different defense. "I could have a boyfriend."

Castle snorted. "Yeah okay."

"What?" she replied incredulously.

"You don't have a boyfriend." His conclusion was simple and straightforward, just as he would have answered blue if someone asked the color of the sky.

"You don't know that."

"I do."

Even more annoyed she informed him, "No, you don't."

"Okay," he conceded. "Maybe not officially, but I'm ninety-nine percent certain. Wanna know why?" He let a beat go by before ticking off reasons on his fingertips. "First, you wouldn't have kissed me if you did. Second, even if we could excuse your kiss as you being drunk—which, for the record, we cannot because you weren't that drunk—you wouldn't have invited me inside if you had a boyfriend. Third, you don't have a boyfriend because you're…well, you."

Kate slammed on the car brake a bit too abruptly at his words. Her eyes narrowed when she gazed over at him. "What does that mean?"

He smiled slowly at her. "It means, Kate, that I've seen you eat men alive. What sucker would stick around for that?" He laughed heartily at his comment.

Kate grumbled. She would not deny being hard on men—in interrogation, where they deserved it. In relationships she was much softer. Okay, a little bit softer. Well, she could be softer. Castle simply didn't see that side of her because he always saw her at work. They drove another half block before she said pointedly, "Well, you just tried to get involved—what does that say about you?"

His smile grew impossibly wide. "It says that I am no ordinary man."

"I need to go on a date."

Kate Beckett didn't even bother with pleasantries as she walked into the morgue late that afternoon. She had pawned their interview write-ups off on Castle—further punishment for his behavior the night before (though, admittedly, it was probably undeserved as her behavior had been equally foolish)—and snuck off for some much needed girl talk.

Lanie blinked up at her friend. "Excuse me?"

"I need to go on a date. With a man. Can you set me up?"

The ME stood with one fist at her hip. "What happened to Marcus?"

Kate shook her head. "I need to go out with someone else."

Lanie chuckled lightly. "I don't think so, honey. I'm running out of male friends who will still speak to me."

Kate groaned and stomped one foot in a childish manner. "C'mon Lanie!"

The darker skinned woman folded her arms across her chest. "What's up with you?"

"I just need a date," she said with a shrug.

Lanie's eyes narrowed. "No, something's going on. Ooo!" she proclaimed when she saw a flicker of recognition in her friend's eye. "Something is going on! Dish girl!"

Kate let out a sigh and rounded her shoulders. "It's nothing. It's just…last night I might have asked Castle to fuck me and he turned me down so I need a date."

Lanie's eyes opened impossibly wide. "Whoa—What?! Go back. Start over. You asked Castle to WHAT?"

Kate lowered her eyes and scraped her toe against the cement floor. "You heard me. It was nothing," she mumbled out.

"That is not nothing!" When, after a moment, her friend was still silent, she demanded impatiently, "Well?"

Leaning against one of the empty autopsy slabs to tell her tale, she began, "I…I went out with the guys, had a few drinks….he was walking me back to my apartment and I might have momentarily wondered what it would be like to kiss him and then…things got out of hand. It was a moment of drunken weakness."

Weakness—right. Was that even a strong enough word? She had been an idiot; a complete and total idiot. Castle—she had kissed Castle. Of all people, why did it have to be Castle? Why did it have to be the one person she literally could not avoid?

Once she calmed down from the rage she felt when he dismissed her advances, Kate realized she had never felt so foolish in her life. They were partners; coworkers and crossing the line into lovers simply wasn't done. Yes, outwardly she was angry with Castle, but mostly she was angry with herself. Had he not stopped them, she was sure they would have followed through, and then they would have had to deal with the aftermath of that. Honestly, she should have been thanking him for having the presence of mind to say no—but, of course, that was never going to happen.

Her jaw still hanging open with shock, Lanie shook her head. "Yeah, okay. Or you could just admit that you have feelings for him."

Kate let out an incredulous gasp. "Oh my god, Lanie. I do not have feelings for him! I don't even like him."

The ME rolled her eyes. "Of course you don't, so answer me this—why had he been your partner longer than anyone since Royce?"

Kate fought the urge to flinch at the mention of her former partner—the first partner she had after making detective. In her mind, Royce was the end-all, be-all of partners. She could never have a partner better than Royce; or one from whom she learned more. After he retired, her partnerships had been and endless series of disappointments.

She considered each of the morons for a moment before realizing her friend was wrong. "He hasn't been; I was with Henderson for almost a year."

"Ah," Lanie held up her right index finger, "but you asked Montgomery to transfer him at the seven month mark; Castle's made it past that."

Kate pressed her lips together; damn her friend's excellent memory. "Just because I…tolerate him as a partner doesn't mean I have feelings for him."

"Whatever. Just continue your story. You wanted to have wild, crazy, steamy sex with Castle; he said no. Do you know why?"

"It doesn't matter."

From her tone and eye contact evasion, Lanie knew there was more to the story. "I'm curious; indulge me. What did he say?"

Kate let out a stubborn exhale and combed her hair back from her face. She twisted it into a ponytail before dropping her hands to her sides. As a curtain of hair fell back over her face she explained. "He said he respects me too much to do that."

A slow, justified smile crossed Lanie's face. "Ahhh, so he does like you."

"He doesn't like me."

"Um, yeah, he does. He totally likes you."

Kate clicked her tongue. "What is this—the eighth grade?"

"Castle has the maturity of an eighth grader," Lanie pointed out.

Kate nodded, conceding to this. "Somewhat valid point except his daughter is, like, in eighth grade so that's creepy."

Lanie's eyebrows rose. Due to his maturity level (or lack there-of) she sometimes forgot Castle's real age. "Is she really in eighth?"

"It might be seventh—whatever Lanie, I want a date." Kate repeated her original purpose for arriving at the morgue that afternoon.

Lanie shook her head and casually took a seat at her desk. Could she have set her friend up? Probably, but it didn't feel right. She felt her friend needed to explore the feelings she had for her partner and was so obviously denying. By setting her up with someone else, Lanie would be aiding in this delusion and that was something she wanted no parts of. "Sorry, no can do. Why don't you try the internet?"

Kate's brow furrowed. "For what? Porn?"

Lanie laughed. "If you're horny, sure. But I actually meant one of those online dating sites."

An expression of pure horror crossed Kate's face. "Creeps and perverts? No, thanks."

The ME rolled her eyes at her friend; sometimes being a cop and seeing the worst of human beings every day really did seem to poison her. "My cousin married a man she met online—he is neither a creep nor a pervert."

Kate shrugged. "Then she got lucky."

"Whatever. Can we go back to the part where Castle clearly likes you and you're in denial about it?"

"The man doesn't like me. When has he ever shown anything that would indicate that he likes me?"

Lanie let out a laugh. "I assume you're looking for an answer other than 'all the time.'"

Kate waved a dismissive hand at her friend. "He does not."

"Yeah. He does."

"No."

"He does, Kate. Really. You should see how he looks at you. That man would move mountains for you."

"No…" She said, though that time she sounded more concerned than convinced.

Lanie shrugged, giving up on their one-sided argument. "Fine. Think what you want to think, but for the record I think you should give Castle a shot."