Disclaimer: As usual, all things Castle belong to ABC & Co.

Author's Note: Yet another fix-it fic for the end of Season 2, starting with the end of 2x23 "Overkill" and going on from there.

The Best-Laid Plans

Chapter 1

Kate headed back to the bullpen after seeing Blake Wilder and Lisa Jenkins into the holding cells, already mentally starting to work on how to phrase the paperwork explaining this bizarre coincidental murder for the double arrest, when she saw Tom approaching and was distracted. Pleasantly so, she told herself, noting all over again his clean-cut good looks, his height.

His eyes met hers and he smiled, his expression brightening noticeably, and she returned his smile.

"Kate," he greeted as they drew near. "Nice job on closing the case."

"Thanks for your help. I appreciate it."

He lifted a shoulder into a half-shrug of demurral, his blue eyes bright (and what was wrong with her that she felt a vague sense of… wrongness at the color of his eyes? There was no such thing as right or wrong when it came to the color of eyes.) "It was no trouble. Cops have to look out for each other, right?"

Oh, he really was so nice.

"Still, thanks."

"So, since the case is closed, I was thinking, how about we celebrate, actually leave the precinct and get dinner somewhere?" he suggested.

She'd been expecting this, the invitation to make up for their makeshift "date" in the bullpen the other week. "I'd like that," she agreed, ignoring the little twinge of something almost like reluctance inside her. It was stupid, anyway, she told herself. She'd been expecting him to ask and even planned to say yes. She didn't know why, now that the moment was actually here, that she just felt… unenthused. "Just give me about an hour to finish up the paperwork for the arrests."

"I was hoping for sooner than that but I can wait," he responded, a faint smile tugging on his lips, as he took a slow step closer to her.

"Duty calls, you know," she returned.

"I get it, Kate, don't worry about it," he assured.

"Right," was all she came up with, managing a response as the next step in this little dance of flirtation she and Tom were engaging in, conscious of the very faint pull of anticipation. (And tried to ignore the fact that it felt a little artificial.)

He had taken another small step forward until there was little more than a sliver of space between their bodies, so they'd be basically chest to chest if either of them so much as shuffled a bare inch or so forward. His eyes lowered to her lips.

He wanted to kiss her–well, she'd known that–was about to kiss her, and why not? They'd been on one "date" already, albeit one that was cut short, and were about to go on another. But not here, not in the hallway of the precinct where they were in plain view of anyone who walked by.

She took a small step sideways and back, heading towards the door to the back stairs, meeting Tom's eyes and allowing her lashes to lower and then lift again deliberately, as she backed into the stairwell knowing he would follow.

And he did.

She was half-expecting he would make some cocky, teasing comment about her being eager for privacy or something but he didn't. Of course he didn't, she pulled herself up short, this was Tom and he wasn't that kind of guy, not that smug, not that given to teasing.

The door to the stairwell door swung closed and he met her eyes before his head lowered.

She closed her eyes–but the face that appeared behind her closed lids wasn't Tom's but of another man, one with deeper blue eyes, a more mobile mouth–-she stiffened and shoved the image out of her mind–oh god oh no. And as if that mental image had galvanized her into it, she was the one who lifted her face the last bit until her mouth touched Tom's.

His lips were soft, warm. He wasn't a bad kisser, she could already tell, patient, even thoughtful, letting her take the lead as his lips lingered on hers, not simply mashing his mouth against hers. And it was… fine. Nice. She waited a beat for the tug of desire, the wish for more, but it didn't happen, just a faint little ember of pleasure but only that and nothing more.

The phrasing pulled her up short–and now even her thoughts were starting to sound like him.

She felt his–Tom's–lips part, his tongue just touching her lips–and without conscious thought, jerked her head back, breaking off the kiss before it could go anywhere.

Oh shit. She suddenly wished she could kick herself, knew she'd behaved badly, but a glance at Tom showed that he didn't look upset or angry, a little surprised, yes, and a little disappointed but also almost… resigned. Which was worse. Ironically, she thought she would feel better if he did look angry, made it easier in a way, but he didn't. Oh, oh, damn! He was just so… nice. And what the hell was wrong with her that even in her own head, the words didn't sound like a good thing? Since when was being nice a bad thing?

"Sorry," she blurted out, inadequately, but what else could she say? And she was sorry. Annoyed at herself so yes, she was sorry but for all that, she didn't doubt what she was doing either. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "I really do like you."

She inwardly winced. That hadn't come out sounding as conciliatory as she'd hoped, the unspoken 'but' all too obvious.

His lips twisted rather ruefully. "Just not enough," he completed for her mildly.

Ugh, worse and worse. Where oh where was the merciful hole in the ground that should have opened up so she could just dive into it and get out of this? And why oh why couldn't she subtly kick herself? Or have the fire alarm go off or something, anything to get her out of this. But the universe was not that cooperative.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I just… you're a great guy, you have to know that, but I just… I don't think this is what I'm looking for right now," she finished lamely. She inwardly writhed. Stupid, stupid, oh so very stupid. She had behaved badly, she knew that, flirting with Tom the way she had, even inviting him into the stairwell the way she had, only to back out so… abruptly, so pathetically. Acting like a tease or somewhat more charitably, like she was some indecisive idiot who didn't know what she wanted, couldn't make up her own mind.

Except–fine–she might not like to admit it but it wasn't untrue either. She had been indecisive and stupid and oh, all sorts of things she didn't care to think about right now.

And why oh why couldn't he be angry at her? She would feel better, this would be easier, if he would just get angry, if he would lash out and act like a jerk then she wouldn't need to feel so guilty–but of course, that was the problem. Because Tom wasn't a jerk. He was a genuinely nice guy who would no doubt make a very sweet boyfriend and make some woman very happy one day. It would just not be her.

"What are you looking for, Kate?" Tom asked quietly.

Cas–she cut off the word before it could finish, yanking her mind away from the dismaying truth–wait, what?—it wasn't true, she didn't want it to be–refused to believe it could be.

"I'm not sure," she said instead. "I just… don't think this is right for me, not now. I'm sorry."

He sighed briefly, his lips twisting with rather wry resignation. "You don't have to apologize, Kate. You're being honest and I can't fault you for that."

No, she hadn't even been that honest, not with herself and not with him, not until now, at least. After she'd acted like a tease and an indecisive flirt and been so very unfair to Tom. "I really am sorry," she said again, wishing it didn't sound so lame.

"Yeah, so am I," he made a rueful grimace. "I hoped… well, never mind." He took a step back from her. "I guess I'll see you around?"

"Yeah," she agreed lamely. "Thanks again for your help on this case," she managed to get out, forcing a small smile.

"Just doing my job," he demurred and then turned to go lightly down the stairs to the Robbery floor.

While she waited in the stairwell until after she heard him exit the stairs to Robbery, the door to Robbery closing with a decisive crash that seemed to echo in her over-sensitized ears. It wasn't really a slam but it sounded like it to her at the moment.

She winced and momentarily let her head fall back, blowing out her breath. So much for that, so much for even the hope of a nice, steady relationship with a decent guy. Damn it all!

She jerked away from the wall and stalked through the door back out onto the Homicide floor. She didn't have time for this, wallowing in her own stupidity. She might be an idiot when it came to her own personal life but she still had a job to do.

Which resolution was all well and good but all her hard-won focus splintered around her as she caught a glimpse of a familiar set of shoulders through the windows to the break room, her step faltering in spite of herself, her stupid traitorous heart–no, not her heart, her body–reacting as she paused in the doorway.

And looked at Castle, hating herself for noticing the way the purple of his shirt contrasted with his eyes, hating even more the fact that even from this distance with half the break room between them, just the sight of him affected her more strongly than Tom–Tom's kiss–had. And that was the whole problem. If she'd been at all inclined to second-guess her rejecting Tom–she hadn't–she had her answer now. She might hate herself for it but it was true. Damn it.

"Castle, what are you still doing here?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

"Hey," he greeted and she wondered if he was imagining that he sounded a little off. "Just about to leave myself. Good job closing the case."

She forced a smile. "Yeah, well, we make a good team." They really did–and at that moment, she kind of hated that too. All this would be easier if they didn't work well together, if he weren't so quick-witted. But if he'd been stupid, she wouldn't have this problem at all and she just wasn't that lucky, apparently.

"Good night."

She stamped down the little tug of something weirdly like disappointment at his quickness to say goodbye, his apparent eagerness to leave. Not that she cared–or oh fine, damn it, not that she should care. "Night."

She forced another smile and then made herself walk away, her steps quick, and she flatly refused to look back and tried not to even feel his gaze on her back for a moment before he too turned away (and she hated that she was so aware of him that she knew when he turned away as if she had eyes in the back of her head).

She dropped down into her chair at her desk and started working on the paperwork to explain this strange double-murder but of course, even in writing up the case report, she couldn't get away from thoughts of either Tom or Castle because they had both been all over this case, both been instrumental in putting together the evidence against both Blake Wilder and Lisa Jenkins. The lowering, shameful truth was that for all her mild irritation at their masculine posturing, she had been a little amused and, yes, flattered too. Which didn't say anything good about her. But of course, all that was wrapped up in her mistake with Tom to begin with. Oh, she honestly did like him and he really was objectively handsome and yet for all that, any attraction she felt for him had been weak and hadn't translated into real chemistry, as their bland kiss had proven. She should have been more attracted to him, wanted to be attracted to him. But she had to admit, very belatedly, that she had really only been pretending to more attraction than she actually felt and she had done it because of Castle.

So, she had just been using Tom, really, to get back at Castle. Not only to get back at Castle but to convince herself she didn't care what Castle did in his free time so she'd been lying to herself on top of using Tom, neither of which made her sound very good.

It was so juvenile too, stupid playground behavior, and this was another thing she decided to blame on Castle. She wasn't usually so juvenile but he got under her skin and provoked her and baited her and, well, he had started it!

Ugh, that didn't help, made her sound even more petulant. And she was not–refused to be–so childish. She was an adult and she took responsibility for her own actions, or at least tried to, and she should have resisted the temptation to basically get back at Castle and she hadn't. Well, now she knew and she was over it. Or something. Learning from her mistakes.

Because it had been a mistake. Tom might have been perfectly nice but she hadn't really been that interested in him per se so much as she'd liked the fact that he was not-Castle. And if she were to strike up a flirtation and even a relationship with Tom, obviously that would prove to anyone looking–anyone with the initials RC or not–that she didn't care about Castle and Ellie Monroe or Castle and Madison or Castle and anyone at all.

But even her denial, her own stupidity, had its limits. And thinking about one man while kissing another was just not right, especially because Tom deserved better than that, was too nice to be used in such a way. Not least because she'd sensed from the beginning that he was more interested in her than she was in him. She had even liked that, low be it spoken, because it kept her in control.

Oh god, how could she have been so stupid?! She didn't know what was wrong with her, she really didn't. She'd set herself up for this and she didn't know when or how it had even happened. After so many months of telling herself Castle was an irritating jackass, the thorn in her side, and all she wanted was for him to be done with his research and leave her to go back to her normal work life as a regular cop working with other cops–she would have sworn she was better than that, smarter than that. Too rational, too careful–she heard Lanie's voice in her mind inserting, too much of a control freak–but well, apparently even so, she was still human and just as susceptible to a pair of broad shoulders and blue eyes and a charming smile as any other straight woman with a pulse. To be so hung up over a man because he was unfairly sexy–-and oh fine, clever too. Because it wasn't just Castle's looks, she knew. That fireman, Brad Decker, had been hot too but his lack of personality and lack of intelligence had pretty much killed off any attraction pretty damn quickly. It was partly what she'd liked about Tom too, that he wasn't stupid, was a good cop in his own right.

But no, her stubborn, stupid body wanted Castle, was apparently fixed on him, and wasn't interested in substitutes.

At least not yet.

Not for the first time–as much as she wanted to deny it, she had thought about it before–she thought maybe she should just give in to the physical attraction between her and Castle, sleep with him, get him out of her system.

Just sex. And just once. That should be enough, no doubt. The physical attraction might be strong but it would be a flash in the pan, over and done with once spent.

It wasn't as if he was interested in anything more and it wasn't as if she was either. She wasn't. It was only lust for her, a purely physical thing. (Liar, a little voice in her mind whispered, but she ignored it. It wasn't true–she refused to let it be true.)

She'd told herself and told herself she had too much pride to end up as another notch on Castle's bedpost–and she did still cringe a little at the thought–but then, well, if today proved anything, it was that she was too hung up on him to even try to move on with anyone else.

So maybe she should just go for it. It would just be sex, after all. One night of meaningless pleasure–and she was reasonably sure sex with Castle would be good–and then she would just be over this ridiculous attraction to Castle that was clearly doing terrible things to her judgment.

So what if she hadn't had a one night stand in years, had outgrown that phase–but well, desperate times and all that.

And it wasn't as if Castle hadn't been looking to get into her pants since the moment they'd met. She'd resisted this long–because oh fine, she'd been attracted to him from the moment they'd met too, even as she'd half-wanted to shoot him too–but maybe it was time she just gave in since clearly the attraction wasn't going away. She'd thought it would, familiarity breeding contempt as it were, but no, even spending all this time with Castle hadn't done that. It almost seemed–oh fine, yes, it had just made the attraction stronger. She knew his scent now, knew the warmth that always radiated from his body, knew the strength of his grip from the few times he'd touched her. She just knew him and, yes, she wanted him. Still.

But then there was still that outstanding bet going around the bullpen too, the thought occurred to her, and she stiffened. Everyone had expected her and Castle to sleep together at some point, had been so sure she would succumb, and she hated that too. Not just the nosiness of the precinct which she disliked but had mostly resigned herself to, but also the fact that no one, apparently, placed any faith in her ability to resist a charming playboy. It was too… lowering.

But then, no one necessarily needed to know, a little voice in her mind interjected. If it just happened the one time–and it would only happen one time–no one might ever find out about it. She certainly wouldn't tell and she had enough confidence in her ability to threaten Castle into discretion for once in his adult life.

It might work.

So maybe she should have sex with Castle, just once. Just sex, one night of mutual lust, and that would be it.

~To be continued…~

A/N 2: I always hated the end of "Overkill," so I decided to fix it and then wanted to try writing a story where smut is part of the plot, as it were, so we'll see how it goes…

Thank you, as always, for reading.