Author's Note: In which there is some more smut….

The Best-Laid Plans

Chapter 12

Later that night, after they had eaten their fill of s'mores and then watched the fireworks display put on by the town, Kate found she couldn't sleep. She had excused herself almost as soon as the fireworks had ended, claiming tiredness, and she was tired, an afternoon spent in the pool would do that.

But for all that, she couldn't sleep, found herself lying in the very comfortable bed staring up at the ceiling and watching the play of shadows across it. Listening to the vague sounds of Alexis coming upstairs and then taking care of her nightly ablutions before she heard Alexis's door close for the night.

She might try to tell herself the sound of the waves outside was keeping her up except she'd slept just fine the night before so that excuse didn't wash.

No, what was keeping her up was Castle, or more accurately, thinking about Castle and, well, herself too.

Because she did like him, wanted to be with him. She'd tried but she couldn't deny it any longer. This past day–oh hell, probably more like this whole past couple weeks since that night at the hotel–the knowledge had been creeping up on her and her ability to ignore it had run out now. It wasn't just about lust, although god knows, the lust was powerful too. It was about more than that, about the way he made her laugh, the way she liked talking to him, the way he brought her coffee and seemed to be able to sense when she wanted a snack. And yes, it was about the way he was with his daughter.

Yes, she liked him–she wasn't thinking about how much–and goodness knows, she wanted him, burned for him in a way she'd never imagined or experienced. She wanted to be with him, have a relationship with him. For a little while, she allowed herself to dream, to picture what it would be like to be with Castle for real. Going on actual dates to nice restaurants with Castle no doubt looking debonair and sexy in a suit, nights spent with Castle in his bed, in his arms, just being able to luxuriate in not just the amazing sex but also what it had felt like to be held by him, surrounded by his warmth and his strength. The occasional family dinners with Alexis and even Martha.

But then what?

That was where her thoughts came to a halt, as if having run into an invisible wall. The imaginings were lovely but also glossed over with a haze of unreality, like a dream sequence in a movie. It wasn't–couldn't be–that simple. For one thing, relationships never were and for another, this was about her and Richard Castle.

Because she really didn't–couldn't–imagine a real relationship between her and Castle lasting for long. Oh, she was sure it would be fine at first, fun, something like this weekend had been, spending time with him outside of work, just without Alexis constantly present and with the added benefit of sex. But beyond that? No, she couldn't really see it. This weekend was like a break from reality, a short-lived fantasy, as it were, but this wasn't their real lives, wasn't her real life.

She would start to feel smothered, her prickly independence asserting itself, as had always happened before. She wasn't someone who was used to closeness or much company and Castle, well, as Alexis had accurately pointed out, Castle was a people person. She had no doubt he would want a lot of closeness, and not just in the sexy sense. And then there were the other things she knew about Castle–his talkativeness, his hyperactivity, his habit of joking around–that would probably become more annoying than amusing dealing with it day in and day out, not only dealing with it in the precinct but when she was off-duty too. As she'd once told Lanie, her work took enough out of her that when she wasn't at work, she usually wanted quiet. And quiet was not something she associated with Castle.

She and Castle were so different in a lot of ways, not least of which was the undeniable fact that they came from different worlds. He was this celebrity multi-millionaire who owned a mansion in the Hamptons and was personal friends with other famous people like the Mayor and Joe Torre. Even if he wasn't quite the celebrity playboy she had initially pegged him as, he was still a celebrity and he was a multi-millionaire. She was just a cop, who worked for a living, did not mingle with the rich and famous, and wouldn't fit in among them even if she met them.

She and Will had been from the same world, had so much in common with the shared law enforcement background and even their relationship hadn't lasted long.

Castle, with his looks and his kindness, to say nothing of his money, could be with any woman he wanted. He was… such a giver of light, with his humor, his optimism. And she was absolutely not like that. No doubt after a while, he would get tired of dealing with her prickliness, the wounds and the darkness she carried with her and dealt with every day at work.

And all that aside, she wasn't good at relationships, wasn't sure she had it in her to have a real relationship because that took vulnerability, opening herself up, and that was something she didn't do, could not do.

In the end–she grimaced–it wasn't about what she wanted–Castle–but about what she feared.

Starting a relationship with Castle would be a risk–a big one, at that. If it didn't work–and again, she wasn't sure she believed a real relationship with Castle could work for long–she would lose his friendship and his partnership in the precinct and–as surprising as it still sometimes seemed–she'd grown to like having Castle around at work. Working with him–well, not only was he helpful in solving cases but he also made things more fun and in a job where fun was generally in short supply, she didn't want to risk that. Most relationships didn't last whereas friendship, a work partnership, that was steadier, more stable.

And more personally, she had the nagging sense that a relationship with Castle would not–could not–be like her relationship with Will because Will had been… safe, in a way that Castle was not. She could admit that now, even if she hadn't been aware of it back then. As much as she'd liked Will and cared about him, she had always felt in control of herself, her emotions, where Will was concerned.

It was partly what she had liked about Tom too, the sense that with him, she would remain in control. Even if their relationship had gone further, she'd known, sensed, that he would never become necessary to her, just as Will hadn't either. As much as she had honestly cared about Will, as much as she had been hurt when he'd left for Boston, chosen Boston over their relationship, she'd been fine, able to move on.

Castle wasn't like that, wasn't safe. And control was not even close to what she felt whenever Castle was around. Hell, just the two times they'd had sex had proven that because if she'd been in any sort of control, it wouldn't have happened at all and certainly, the second time would not have happened. Castle had always been able to get under her skin, somehow–just witness the way he had sneakily, sinuously worked his way into her life until she could hardly imagine the precinct without him anymore. The way he'd made her like him, even care about him, when she'd been determined to do no such thing. He could irritate her, challenge her, make her laugh, make her dizzy with want. And he could make her cry. He already had, not just when he'd looked into her mom's case, but just after they'd met when he'd somehow seen straight through her to figure out what happened to her and why she'd become a cop. The way he had profiled her in the conference room, what he'd said, the way he'd so easily put into words her deepest wounds. And she remembered, too, his other words, that had made her feel raw, stripped bare. It's because you're afraid, isn't it, you're afraid that if you look into your mother's death, you'll go right back down that rabbit hole and lose yourself again…

No, Castle wasn't safe. Her relationship with Castle from the very beginning had never been easy or comfortable, had always been challenging, even exciting. And she was afraid–terrified, really–that if she and Castle were really together, it would be so easy to fall for him for real, become even more accustomed to having him around in her life outside of the precinct too, making her laugh, making her life more fun, the way he already had in the precinct. And then when he got tired of dealing with her issues, when he realized he could be with someone who was more open-hearted and fun and didn't have as much emotional baggage, she would be left alone… desolate.

Being with Castle would be risking… oh, everything.

But she wasn't a risk-taker.

So yes, she liked Castle, wanted him, but sex was all she could allow herself to want when it came to him. And even the sex was over and done with, had to be.

She'd made up her mind, knew she'd done the only thing she could do, made the safe, responsible choice. But even so, she found herself sighing a little, grimacing, and couldn't help but think that being a grown-up could really suck sometimes. (And then felt a little pinch in her chest as it occurred to her that she might have spent too much time with Castle if she was expressing such a Castle-like sentiment.)

Kate huffed out a breath and turned over onto her side, her eyes falling onto the clock on the nightstand to see that it was well after midnight and she felt no closer to falling asleep than she had two hours ago.

Oh, what the hell. Maybe she would just go downstairs, get herself a glass of water and a book or something. There was no point in lying in bed awake.

Decision made, she slid out of bed and carefully opened up the door and padded her way quietly down the hall, using the moonlight to find her way instead of turning on a light. She made her way downstairs and then paused. There was a light on somewhere. Castle must have forgotten to turn off all the lights when he went upstairs.

She made her way down the hall to see that the light was coming from Castle's office and walked in only to stop short. "Castle. I didn't think anyone was still up."

Her inane words overlapped with his "Beckett! What are you doing up?"

He gave a little laugh and gestured with one hand for her to speak.

"I–uh, I came down to get a glass of water," she blurted out, her thoughts feeling slow and sluggish. He hadn't changed from earlier, looked as if he'd never gone to bed at all but simply started writing. Whereas she was all too aware that she wasn't wearing a bra under her thin sleep shirt.

"And I was writing." His lips twisted a little ruefully. "I do have a book to finish, if you remember."

She really had no idea why the thought of his writing about her–Nikki Heat, that is–while she was lying just upstairs would make her body go up in flames–but then again, maybe it had nothing to do with that and was just about him because at this point, she was (almost) resigned to the fact that simply being in the same room as him could make her want him.

"Oh, right," she managed. "Do you do most of your writing in the middle of the night?"

He shrugged a little. "After Alexis goes to bed, yes. I got into the habit when she was little and needed to be supervised and now, it's easier to focus when no one else is around."

"That makes sense." She sounded inane.

There was a somewhat awkward silence in which she tried and failed not to notice the way the soft cotton of his shirt clung to the muscles of his shoulders and biceps. (What? He just… had very nice arms. And a nice chest and an even nicer… Nope, not thinking about it. Too late.)

"Didn't you want to get some water?" he finally asked.

Oh, right. She managed a small, half-abashed smile. "Of course. Excuse me."

She turned and hurried into the kitchen, pausing for a long minute before she made a slow production of getting a glass from the cabinet and then pouring herself some cold water, as if the cold water would cool her down, keep her from doing what she already knew she was going to do.

Ha, yeah, right, no chance of that. She was already sure of that. It was stupid and rash and ill-judged–and inevitable basically from the moment she'd walked into the office and seen Castle. In the silent house, in the dark of night, with the knowledge that Alexis was safely upstairs and asleep–no, she didn't think she had a chance of resisting.

One last time, she told herself firmly. Really. One final time to have what she wanted and then she would stop, would have to find a way to stop. And she would. Really, she would. She had to. Going on when she knew she wanted more and didn't dare allow herself to want more wouldn't be fair to either of them really. She couldn't allow herself to keep giving in, getting dragged even deeper into lust for him, and she couldn't lead him on so she had to stop.

And she would. After this one last time.

Three times could still count as a casual fling. And then she'd be done. Would find a way to distance herself from Castle a little, keep him safely in the section of her brain reserved for her other professional colleagues. Go back to their nice, safe, platonic friendship and partnership.

Just not tonight.

She returned to the office to find Castle typing, editing she guessed, from the slow speed and frequent stops and starts.

He looked up as she entered, his hands stilling on the keyboard, although she noted that he did pause long enough to hit a key to save the document, she guessed.

"How is the book coming?" she asked. As openings to a seduction went, it wasn't great but her mind was already preoccupied, remembering and imagining the feel of his mouth against hers, his hands, his body.

He made a rueful little grimace. "Well enough. I'm almost to the point when I can start pulling everything together for the final confrontation. But also not nearly fast enough considering the first draft was due a week ago."

"I guess we've been distracting you this weekend."

He smirked. "Correction, you've been very helpful aids in my procrastination this weekend."

She smiled. "I stand corrected." She paused, allowing herself to take a few steps closer to his desk until she was able to reach out and run her fingers lightly along the edge of one of the pictures of him and Alexis on his desk. "Well, since I've already helped you procrastinate, any chance I could make it up to you and… inspire you instead?" she heard the way her voice had become husky, turning the words into an innuendo and an invitation.

His eyes flared and he blindly closed his laptop as he swallowed. "Uh, Beckett, I… are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"You're the writer, Castle, I thought you'd be better at picking up on subtext," she teased as she rounded his desk.

"I didn't want to assume," he managed, his voice a little gravelly in a way that seemed to set off sparks in her auditory synapses, adding to the molten heat pooling low inside her. God, she didn't know how just his voice could do that. She'd never thought she could be so susceptible to the sound of someone's voice.

She lifted her hand to his face, feeling the scratch of his stubble against her palm, and he turned his head just enough to brush a kiss to the inside of her wrist, sending lightning streaking up her arm. And then she kissed him, a small, needy moan getting swallowed by his mouth, as he opened for her and she really didn't know how his kiss alone could do so much to her, didn't know how she'd survived the last couple days without his lips and his mouth working over hers.

His arms came up around her and she blindly lowered herself to sit on his lap, not breaking off the kiss and they both groaned a little as the growing hardness in his pants pressed against her thigh.

His mouth left hers and she made a soft involuntary noise of protest that turned into a gasp as his lips and tongue found the sensitive spot just below her ear then moved on to lick and kiss the spot where her pulse fluttered madly.

She let her head fall back granting him greater access while her hands moved from his head to his shoulders, the muscles of his back, exploring, glorying in the hard strength of him, the solid heat of him practically searing her hands through the cloth of his shirt.

His lips and hands weren't idle either, painting damp kisses along her throat and down while his hands slid inside her loose sleep shirt, his fingers tracing eager patterns along her back. His mouth slid lower until he closed his lips around her nipple through the thin cotton of her shirt and she moaned, something about the feel of the wet cloth against her sensitized nipple amplifying the rush of sensation. Oh oh god…

He momentarily broke off his attentions to her breast to tug her shirt up and over her head, discarding it, and she took advantage of the newfound space between them to do the same to his shirt. She wanted–no, needed–to see him too, the bare chest she'd spent far too much time staring at over the last two days and not been able to touch and taste.

"God, Beckett," he groaned as he stared at her for a moment and then his mouth was on her again, licking, teething, tasting her, his hand coming up to her other breast, caressing and kneading and then pinching her nipple between his fingers with just enough pressure to send a jolt of pleasure so strong it was almost pain straight through her, pooling between her legs. She didn't know how he'd figured that out so quickly, just the right amount of force she liked.

She moaned and writhed on his lap, grinding down against the hard evidence of his own lust, and he groaned and jerked under her.

"Beckett, wait," he gasped. "I don't have protection."

It took her a couple seconds for her scattered brain cells to comprehend the words. A disappointment, yes, but on the other hand, she had no doubt both she and Castle could make up for it. "Hmm," she murmured against his lips. "Too bad." A light kiss. "I guess…" Another light kiss. "We'll just have to…" A small lick to the corner of his lips. "Figure something else out."

She nuzzled a trail of kisses along his chin and down to press her lips to the column of his throat, feeling his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and she teasingly let her teeth graze his Adam's apple, eliciting another groan. She kissed and then let her tongue sneak out to lick his throat, savoring his taste and his scent. She liked the smell of him, wanted to nuzzle him, bury her nose in his throat and just breathe him in for, oh, an hour or two–she didn't have that kind of time. She pushed aside the thought and continued exploring his neck and throat with her lips while her hands mapped the delectable topography of his shoulders and chest as his hips jerked under her, pushing the hard bulge of him more firmly against her core, making them both groan.

As delicious as the feel of him against her was, it occurred to her that her position on his lap was restricting the access of her mouth and hands to the rest of his chest and lower still. "Maybe we should move this to the couch," she suggested against his skin. "More room to play."

He gave a breathless sound of approval that was something between a laugh and a groan. "I love the way you think."

And then before she could so much as blink or think to try to move herself, his hands cupped her butt and he surged to his feet and she wrapped her legs around his waist with a breathless little sound of surprise. Oh god, she'd known he was strong and seen the evidence of his muscles but even so, she hadn't expected this. It was amazingly hot and she felt a fresh surge of molten heat pooling between her legs.

He set her down on the couch but she pushed herself up on her arm and tugged him down beside her and then gently pushed on his shoulder until he was the one reclining. "No, wait, I want to play first."

"Bossy, aren't you," he commented breathlessly even as he obeyed.

"You knew that already," she managed distractedly and was even a little proud of herself for being able to form a coherent response since he was now spread out before her like a feast, the expanse of his bare chest, his shoulders, his flat stomach. Still wearing his shorts but that would be remedied shortly.

But first… She leaned down and set her mouth to one of his flat male nipples, lapping it delicately, loving the way his muscles tensed at her touch, his strangled breath. She licked and kissed her way across his chest while her hands made their own voyage of exploration, stroking, caressing, every ridge of muscle on his shoulders, his chest, his arms.

"Beck… ett…" Her name came out on a strangled moan.

Her mouth slid lower, licked the faint line bisecting his chest, and then down his stomach, where his muscles flexed under his smooth skin.

The position was becoming a little untenable and would certainly impede her ultimate goal so she slid off the couch and onto the floor. Kneeling–kneeling before a man–wasn't something she did, the submissiveness inherent in the position wasn't one she necessarily liked but with Castle, she trusted he wouldn't take advantage of it.

Her hands undid the fastenings of his shorts and he scrambled to help, lifting his hips so she could rid him of both boxers and shorts in one go until he was finally, finally naked. And hers. At least for now.

Mm, god, she'd missed this. Her mouth all but watered. He was so… perfect… and she just barely managed to stop the words from escaping her mouth.

She bent and kissed his hip, making him start a little in surprise, and she hid a smirk. Clearly, he'd expected her to simply go for the main course. She kissed and licked her way across his lower stomach, some inches above her ultimate aim, while her hands explored his thighs, dipped down to stroke the sides of his butt.

The side of her hand not-quite-accidentally brushed against his arousal and his hips jerked. She paused and then lightly, teasingly, allowed her fingers to trail along the hard length of him.

She shifted position slightly until her mouth was hovering just inches above him and blew a light stream of air against him and he made an inarticulate sound in his throat.

And then finally, she touched her tongue to him. She started with a light, almost dainty lick and then continued on, light teasing touches of her lips and tongue along the length of him until he was reduced to incoherent groans and grunts.

She paused, lifting her head just enough to look at him to see that his eyes were wide, looked a little wild as he stared at her. He lifted one hand and touched her face, her cheek, his touch gentle, even… tender, amazingly so considering where her mouth had just been.

She lowered her head and took him into her mouth and the fleeting moment of tenderness was gone as his hand moved to tangle in her hair but still gently. She went on, using every trick she knew, until he was groaning, a long stream of incoherent sounds escaping his throat, his hips jerking. She might have been on her knees but this–being able to do this to him, being able to make him lose control–was power. And having him in her thrall like this sent fresh heat pooling between her legs. Oh, yes, she liked this, liked knowing that at this moment, he was entirely hers.

She licked and sucked and used her tongue until he came in a hot gush, a strangled cry escaping him, and then sagged back onto the couch as if he might never move again.

She rose up off her knees and perched on the couch beside him and after a moment, decided to strip off her pajama pants and soaking underwear.

His expression was a little slack, his eyes dazed, but a spark of arousal flickered as he saw that she was naked.

She summoned up enough coherence to smirk at him. "Still alive there?"

He gave a low little laugh. "Barely." He paused and then went on, "But now it's your turn."

The huskiness of his voice, the intent in it, sent a jolt of anticipation and arousal streaking through her. Because she knew he would more than make good on the promise, more than make up for anything she'd done for him.

He levered himself up, pushing her back onto the couch, and followed, covering her with his body as he kissed her, long and deep, sucking on her tongue the way she was just sucking on him and something about the thought, knowing that he could taste himself in her mouth, made a little moan get caught in her throat, fire streaking through her.

His lips moved on, trailed down the line of her chin and then her throat, pausing to lick and nip lightly at random spots. She panted as his mouth and hands carried on their slow, devastatingly thorough, exploration of her naked skin. His lips, his tongue, scattered light kisses along her clavicle, licked the start of the curve of her breast, before sliding lower and lightly tonguing her nipple before closing his mouth around the taut peak. Meanwhile, his hands traced, explored, her sides, found her other breast, teasing it and then kneading it, while she arched into him.

His hands moved on, slid further down, traced the curve of her waist, her hips, her thighs, and she was vaguely aware of hearing a small needy mewling sound and only belatedly realized it had come from her because he was so close to touching her where she needed him, needed pressure, something. She was gasping for breath, her whole body feeling as if it might burn up, practically trembling with need. "Cas–tle," she panted. "Please."

As if the word was what he'd been waiting for, he slipped his hand between her legs, covering the wet heat of her, lightly at first, and her hips jerked as she tried to push herself against his hand, needing more, more.

He gave her more, fitting his hand more snugly against her. "God, you're so wet," he groaned against her skin. "So hot…" His hand moved, caressing, exploring, one finger flicking against the delicate nub and she choked on a strangled cry. And then he slid one thick finger inside her and ooohh god, yes…

She had tried but her own hand, her own fingers, had been very poor substitutes for his. He was good with his hands, his fingers, his mouth, his… oh just everything.

A second finger slid inside to join the first and then he was thrusting with his fingers, his thumb rubbing against her just…. oooh… right… and she was gone, the explosion of pleasure blanking her mind, stealing her breath.

She drifted back to earth slowly, her fragmented consciousness slow to re-form, to find that he was still there, his fingers now lightly stroking, petting her center, as he waited for the last shivers of her climax to shimmer through her.

"Okay there?" he murmured.

"Hmm…" was all she could muster and she felt his lips curve against her skin as he lifted his hand from her.

She felt an absurd little flicker of something like disappointment but before she could so much as process it, he was moving, sliding off the couch until he was the one kneeling.

And even though she had just come with a force that felt as if it should have blown her head off, she felt a fresh surge of arousal, anticipation, flare inside her. Because she knew just what he could do with his mouth and wasn't sure she could ever get enough of it, of him.

He bent and pressed a kiss to her hip, tracing his tongue lightly over her tattoo as he liked to do, and then moved on, kissing along her thigh, licking lightly at the seam of her thigh. He paused there, allowing her to feel the gentle waft of his breath against her, and she whimpered a little. Please, oh please…

It seemed like a torturous eternity but was in reality probably barely a minute before he moved, placed his mouth on her, and she was already so close it was ridiculous, her vision going blurry. Her world narrowed down to just this, to the touch of his lips and his tongue, the way he kissed and licked and–oh god–sucked, swirled his tongue against her… oh oh oh god, right there, yes, Castle!

She sagged back on the couch, struggling for breath, blinking hazy eyes open to look at him as he pushed himself back up onto the couch and then reached for her, tugging her into his lap. She slumped over him, against him, tucking her face into the curve of his neck. In some tiny corner of what little remained of her mind, she was vaguely aware that they were cuddling and it shouldn't really be but she didn't move. Couldn't move since she felt more like a puddle than a human being, was reasonably sure her bones had liquified. She just needed a minute. An hour. A day or two, even, before she could move again–or at least, start to think about moving again.

So she stayed in his lap, in the circle of his arms, nestled against the solid warmth of his chest as she waited for her pulse to slow, her mind to clear. It didn't happen quickly, if anything seemed as if something about his warmth, the way he felt so solid, so… safe… made her thoughts more sluggish, made her just want to stay there, cozy and cosseted…

She felt him move his head to press a kiss to her hair and then to her temple. "Kate…"

Something in his tone, something dangerously close to latent tenderness, combined with his use of her first name, set off alarm bells in her mind. It was too much, too… appealing (but that wasn't the point).

She forcibly tried to clear her hazy mind. "It's late," she blurted out. As responses went, it was not brilliant but it was the best she could manage.

She felt him tense slightly but he only answered, his voice a little careful, "Yes, I guess it is."

"We should probably try to get some sleep. Or at least I should, if you plan to keep writing," she babbled. It took some effort but she was able to force her muscles into action, sliding off his lap–and tried not to feel so conscious of the chill once she was away from the radiating heat-source that was Castle's body. She retrieved her underwear and pajama pants, sliding them on, and then had to retreat back around Castle's desk to find her sleep shirt.

It occurred to her, not for the first time, that this was at least partly why she'd stopped having one night stands and casual flings because the aftermath could be so awkward. No wonder she had lingered in Castle's bed until he'd fallen asleep after the last time.

She finally glanced back in Castle's direction to see that he, too, had slipped his boxers and shorts back on, although that still left his entirely-too-distracting chest and shoulders bare.

"Kate, are we–can we ta–" he began slowly, uncertainly.

Oh, oh no, she wasn't ready for this, didn't want to have any sort of talk that veered towards the subject of their relationship or any emotions. Not that talking about emotions was ever high on her list of things she liked doing but certainly not now.

"What happens in the Hamptons, right, Castle?" she tried to make her voice sound light, missing by a mile even to her own ears.

And then almost flinched at the way his expression changed, fell, until he looked lost, even a little wounded.

It was for the best, she told herself bracingly, and it would only be a temporary little sting, a pinprick. It wasn't anything real, just the after-effects of good–okay, fine, incredible–sex when hormones tended to make even the most level-headed of people associate the giving and receiving of orgasms with real emotions.

But for all that, she couldn't for the life of her keep herself from returning to where Castle still sat on the couch. She didn't want to hurt him, never wanted that.

She cupped his cheek with her hand and then bent and kissed him. For the first time, this kiss wasn't about lust, was more about… liking, and she lingered until his lips parted and she could taste him, lingered until she felt the first smoldering embers of the fire between them kindle–and then she straightened up, aware of a pang of reluctance.

It wasn't wise or fair but she couldn't resist. Because if this was going to be the last time–which it absolutely had to be–she wanted one last kiss. Call it a kiss to say goodbye to their physical relationship. (To mourn her niggling fear that she might never be really over this physical passion between them, might never find anyone else she wanted nearly as much–oh, nonsense, she told herself firmly. That wasn't true.)

"Night, Castle," she said.

"Night, Beckett."

He was calling her Beckett again, she noted, and wondered at the significance of it before she caught herself up–stupid to be analyzing something so minor that was probably due to nothing more than habit anyway. And then she fled before she could do anything more stupid like kiss him again.

~To be continued…~

A/N 2: Um, sorry? Beckett is not someone who makes things easy but rest assured, it will be fixed, in time. Thank you, as always, for reading and reviewing.