Tumblr drabble dump (because it's been a while). I apologise if there are any double up's that I've already posted in here!

PROMPT: Linchpin, after the iconic "maybe you should ask your girlfriend" jealousy scene, Castle shows up at Becketts place.

"Castle?"

There was something about her voice - hushed and a little raspy, but filled with concern - that temporarily simmered his anger.

Is everything okay?

The words remained unspoken but he knew they were there, on the tip of her tongue. Because, of course they were there. Why else would he be frantically banging on her door in the middle of the night, if nothing was wrong?

He was here because he couldn't sleep.

He couldn't sleep because of her, because of their argument, because of her jealousy.

Jealousy that had been an ominous presence from the moment she met Sophia; lingering, festering, bubbling below the surface just waiting to explode.

He could see it in her eyes when he'd caught her watching his interactions with Sophia, hear it in the way she spoke so clinically, professionally. Mostly, he could feel it in the distance she kept. From him, from Sophia. He hated it.

But he hadn't done anything wrong, of that he was adamant! So, he had a past: who didn't? And, sure, he wouldn't particularly want to work with one of her exes… but it's not like that's never happened before.

And - as much as he hated it - he wasn't hers. She had no claim to him.

"You have no right," he said, his thoughts stumbling from his mind and out of his mouth without his permission.

He didn't give her time to register the words, just pushed his way past her and stalked further into her apartment. He had something to get off his chest and he was sure her neighbours would appreciate if he didn't do it from the hallway.

"Please, come on in," she muttered sarcastically, closing the door behind him.

"It's got to stop," he stated firmly as he turned around to face her. "The sarcasm, the snide remarks. I'm sick of it."

Beckett rolled her eyes.

"And that!" he blurted, jabbed a finger in her direction. "The eye rolling! You can't be mad at me for something that happened a lifetime ago, Kate. And, you know what? Even if it did happen to be just last week, you still have no right."

She stared at him, folded her arms across her chest and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I have no idea what you're on about."

"You're jealous."

"Jealous?" She scoffed. "Of what?"

"Of my relationship with Sophia," he replied, matter-of-factly.

She paused, taken aback by how… present tense that answer sounded.

As if he could read her mind, he continued. "A relationship that ended a long time ag-"

"I see the way you look at her," she interrupted bitterly. "The way she looks at you. She loved you."

"She loved me," he reiterated, working on calming himself down. "In the past."

He took a slow, deep breath as Sophia's voice echoed in his mind: I'm still quite fond of you. His eyes drifted, seeking out a safe place to hide his guilt.

"You said 'it was never the way it is with us'. What did you mean?" Kate asked. "Did you love her?"

"It wasn't love," he admitted. He waited, but when she didn't say anything he forced himself to meet her eyes again and continued. "I know love now and- and what Sophia and I had wasn't it."

"It wasn't… the way it is… with us," she repeated his sentiment shyly but surely.

He stared, dumbfounded.

Was he dreaming? Or, did she just-?

She stepped forward, invading his space entirely and his brain just couldn't comprehend that this was reality.

It wasn't the way it is with us.

Because, with 'us', it was love. He knew it… and apparently so did she.

"Castle?" She said his name softly, luring him from his thoughts.

She obviously wanted him to say something, but no words would form, no words seemed… enough.

Her hands found his face, held him gently as her thumb brushed across his cheek.

"Nothing is- nothing ever has been the way it is with us, Kate," he promised.

He tried to wait, to hold back long enough to let her absorb his words, their meaning, the sincerity; but her lips called to him, coaxing him. He brought his hand to the back of her head and guided her closer.

He couldn't hide the desperation he felt as their lips met; frantic, heated, devouring.

Her arms wrapped around his neck and she pulled herself closer, pressing her body against his and he never needed anything as much as he needed her right now.

He trailed kisses from her mouth to her chin, along her jaw and down the column of her neck; nipping and sucking at flushed and sensitive skin. Each sweet, little moan that came from her sent shivers down his spine, encouraging him to continue his exploration.

"Tell me you're mine," she said between ragged breaths. "No one else."

"There's no one else," he promised, taking the lobe of her ear between his teeth.

She pulled back and he forced himself to stop, to look into her eyes, to make sure they were still on the same page.

"Just us," she whispered.

She reached down and laced her fingers with his.

"Make me yours, Castle," she said breathlessly before leading him to the bedroom.

REGRET

(Set during 47 seconds.)

Richard Castle was filled with regret.

Like ice water in his veins: he could feel every painful drop of it as it coursed through his body, freezing him from the inside out.

Two years ago, when he invited her to his home in the Hamptons, he had been warned - by his mother, by the boys, by Beckett herself - to tread carefully, that this wasn't a smart decision, that someone was bound to get hurt. Like a fool, he didn't heed their warning. He doubled down: insisted his intentions were pure and, somehow, he had managed to convince Kate of that, too.

They'd been out of the city for mere hours before the façade fell, before they both stopped trying to convince themselves that this was a purely platonic weekend getaway, before they acknowledged that - like everyone else had already suspected - this was anything but innocent.

On night one they were already pushing boundaries, dangerously close to breaking the unspoken rules they had lived by for the past year.

By night two, they had created an impenetrable bubble where the rules and the complications of real life couldn't get to them. Within the walls of his Hampton home they had created a new life. A life where maybe they could be together, enjoy each other's company without guilt. A life where their touches didn't have to be restrained and the magnetic draw to one another didn't need to be ignored.

Night three and they felt like it had been this way forever: holding hands as they walked along the beach; occupying one another's space, talking and laughing as they cooked dinner together; snuggling up while watching TV or reading books... it felt like they had spent a lifetime doing these things.

What happened next had only felt right. It was tainted by the bittersweet knowledge that in the morning they would be returning to reality, that it would never be repeated, that it would never be spoken of again - but still so right.

He didn't regret their one perfect weekend together. He never would. But that summer he found himself wondering if he should have pushed harder, if he should have asked her to give them a real chance.

He supposed he always knew, deep down, that they weren't ready back then. That is, after all, why he had turned to Gina and why (he assumed) Kate had turned to Josh.

Distractions. From what they both wanted, but weren't ready for.

Over the proceeding two years, that idea had only solidified in his mind. After that summer - when he returned to the precinct - it took them a beat to find their feet again, to find their balance with everything that had changed, everything that hadn't. They got there easily enough, considering.

He had let himself believe that it had been a sign that the universe was on his side... on their side. They slotted right into each other's lives so seamlessly, so effortlessly. Surely that had to been a sign that they were destined to figure this out, right?

And that, right there, was the cause of this all-consuming regret. His foolish belief in destiny.

In fate.

In them.

Maybe without that naivety watching the love of his life inadvertently confess to remembering her shooting, to remembering his tear-filled confession of love and to lying to him with such ease wouldn't be quite so painful.

Maybe without that naivety he never would have allowed himself to so recklessly fall for her - someone who never had and never would love him back - in the first place.

He wouldn't be standing in the observation room frozen, angry and regretting the day he had convinced himself that she was worth risking his heart.

ANNIVERSARY

(Set post-series).

The loft was dark, quiet, still. The usual chaos that she would come home to - her children playing and laughing, her husband telling them some crazy story - was nowhere to be found. Just a near-silence that was broken only by a heavy streaming water.

Given that she had called earlier in the day to break the news that she would have to work through their anniversary dinner, she had assumed he would have cancelled the sitter and that she would be coming home to a very lively, very full house.

She shrugged off her coat, slipped out of her heels and made her way across the loft. She followed the sound of running water through the bedroom and into the en suite. Candlelight flickered, dancing along the walls and the scent of vanilla and cherry blossoms filled the air.

"Alexis insisted the kids still sleep over tonight," Rick informed her as he stepped into the room, his presence startling her. She spun on her heel, looked at him with wide eyes. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. You okay?"

"Didn't hear you come in," she said with a shrug, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around her husband's waist. "I'm a little out of it at the moment. Had a long day."

"I know." He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her so that she faced the tub. "Which is why I had Eduardo buzz me when you arrived so that I could have this ready for you."

Kate sighed contently and let her head drop back against his chest. "This is perfect," she whispered. "Thank you."

"Well, then-" He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Why do you still have your clothes on?" he added in a whisper.

She began to unbutton her blouse as he moved toward the tub and dipped his fingers into the water, checking the temperature before he turned off the taps.

"That should be to your liking," he announced proudly. He turned back to his wife and kissed her forehead. "I'll leave you to it."

"You're not going to join me?" she asked, not even attempting to hide her disappointment.

"You don't want to be alone?"

She smiled, wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted herself onto her tiptoes to press a romantic kiss to his lips.

"What I want is to spend the few hours I have left of my anniversary with the man I love."

"In that case, I would love to join you."

DISTRESS

(Set early season 7)

She knew all too well that the nights would be the worst part. When it was dark and still and quiet; that's when the depth of his trauma would reveal itself.

He'd spend his nights tossing and turning as he fought the demons of his mind, the flashes of repressed memories that he couldn't quite decipher.

Don't wake me, he had requested after that very first night. I need to remember.

She had tried to respect his wishes, tried to leave him be so that he could work through whatever it was his subconscious was trying to tell him; but his pained whimpers and quiet cries were too much for her to ignore.

Not even the darkness of the night could hide the anguish that had embedded itself deep in the furrow of his brow, the tight line of his lips.

"Rick," she whispered, flattened her palm against his cheek. His skin was warm, slick with sweat. "Rick," she repeated just a little bit louder.

"No," he murmured, turning his face away from her. His hand found her, wrapped itself tightly around her wrist. "Please, don't hurt her," he pleaded. "Don't hurt- No, Kate!"

She repeated his name once more, her voice firm and loud enough to pull him from his restless sleep.

His eyes shot open and he searched for something familiar - something that would ground him, reinforce reality - until they finally landed on her.

"W-why?" He choked on the question, his throat dry and tight from panic. "I told you not to wake me."

"I'm sorry, Castle. I just-"

"Just what?" he barked angrily, pulling himself into a sitting position and turning away from her ever-so-slightly.

She knew his anger wasn't because of her - he was frustrated, growing more and more desperate with each passing day - but he wasn't the only one who was sleep deprived, wasn't the only one hurting and confused. The all too familiar weight of sorrow sat heavy in her chest and she could feel the slight sting of tears forming in her eyes.

She lowered her head, let the tears fall. "Sorry."

"You just- you don't get it." His voice was softer, apologetic, but his frustration hadn't eased. It never eased. "You don't know what it's like to know that everyone thinks you're a liar, to know that - until I get my memory back and can start to finally figure out what the hell happened to me - there is nothing I can do to change that. I'm sick of pretending I don't see the doubt in everyone's eyes when they talk to me."

"No doubt in my eyes," she reminded him.

Regret coiled in his stomach, stiffened in his shoulders as he turned around to face her again. Moonlight reflected in the pool of tears in her eyes, the streaks of moisture that stained her cheeks.

"That's not-"

That's not what he meant. He knew that she believed him - despite the evidence, despite the many reasons she had to not believe - and he was incredibly grateful for that, for her strength, for her constant support.

He reached out and took her hand in his. "You deserve answers, too."

"I'll get answers," she assured him with a confidence he envied. "We both will. But this isn't the way to get them, Rick. You're torturing yourself and getting nowhere. We need a new plan."

He nodded. She was right; he couldn't keep doing this.

"I don't know what else I can do," he confessed quietly.

Kate leant back against her pillows, tapped her hand to her chest: a silent request he was familiar with. When he shuffled toward her and rested his cheek to her chest, she cradled him closer to her body. One hand traced delicately up and down the arm that draped over her stomach while the other massaged through his hair.

"Just... close your eyes." She pressed her lips to the top of his head, lingered as she inhaled the scent of shampoo from his hair. "Know that I am right here," she whispered. "I'm with you, through all of this."

Together.

(Set season 8 after Rick tells Kate his missing time is linked to LokSat.)

He was there, right there for her. He always was.

He had been when she walked out on him, left him to pick up the pieces of his broken heart with no reasons, no answers, just an apology the tiny shred of hope her whispered I hope that you'll have room in your heart to take me back offered.

He had been so mad that he wanted to scream; but he didn't. He wanted to throw something; but he wouldn't. He wanted to hate her; but he couldn't. He stuck by her, even through the confusion and hurt, because he knew that she was worth it: that they were worth it.

And now here he was, months later, begging her to give him that same chance; to trust in him despite everything, the same way he had.

She hadn't left the loft, which was huge in itself. Running; that's what she did. But tonight she stayed.

He briefly considered sleeping on the couch, but he couldn't bring himself to offer. He hated the idea of leaving her alone in that big, empty bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering if maybe this time they'd been pushed too far. He had readied himself with excuses for if she'd been the one to make the suggestion: but she didn't.

As he slipped into bed beside her he'd expected her to roll on her side, turn her back to him. It made it easier for her to ignore his presence if she couldn't see him in her periphery, couldn't feel his arm brush against hers. But she stayed exactly where she was: her rightful place in their bed.

Once her anger simmered enough for her to let go of her stubbornness, once the fear and the sadness stopped crushing her chest and constricting her throat she'd reach down and lace her fingers through his.

Their fight was far from over; no magic, overnight fix in sight. The days would be long and they both knew that they'd be stripped, raw and vulnerable before they'd be able to fully trust in one another again - but in the earliest hours of the morning, as they lay awake in a bed they hadn't shared properly in months, they knew that they would make it through to the end: together.

PROMPT: "Can you just hold me?"

(Set season 7, after the elopement.)

For the first time in two months he woke up alone.

He opened his eyes to darkness, not her warm, honey-gold eyes. Heard the distance sound of waves crashing against the shore, not her soothing reassurances. Felt cold sheets instead of the warmth of her body beside him.

"Kate?" he called into the darkness as he craned his neck and searched for any sign of his wife.

He pulled himself from bed, followed the soft glow of light emanating from the staircase to the kitchen.

"Beckett?" he called out to her again, but still there was no answer.

Following nothing more than a gut feeling, he slid open the patio door and stepped outside into the cool November air. He spotted her silhouette in the distance, looking out over the moonlit ocean.

He approached her slowly, careful not to startle her. He saw the slight tilt of her head as she looked over her shoulder, but she did nothing to acknowledge his presence. For a brief moment he considered that maybe he had done something wrong. Or worse, that she regretted their spontaneous decision to elope. But as he stepped up behind her and placed his hands on her hips, she leant back against the wall of his chest, melted into the warmth of his embrace and he knew that whatever thoughts were occupying her mind weren't about him. He pressed a kiss to her temple.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked after a few moments of silence.

If she didn't want to talk he wouldn't push it but there would always be a part of him that wanted to help her, to right whatever might be wrong, to fix whatever might be broken.

"I thought that I had come to terms with it," she admitted as she stared out at the rippling water. "The fact that my mom would never-"

Her voice broke as emotion rushed to the surface. She inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly.

"Today was so perfect, Castle." She turned to face her husband, framed his face with the delicate touch of her fingertips and locked her lips to his in a sweet but sorrow-filled kiss.

He could taste the salted moisture that had streamed so freely from her eyes it had tainted her lips and stained her cheeks.

She placed her hands on his chest, toyed with the fabric of his sleep shirt. "I don't want you to think that I'm not happy or that today wasn't wonderful-"

"I don't," he assured her. "It's okay to be sad, Kate."

She hung her head low as more tears slipped from behind closed eyelids but Rick smoothed his thumb across her cheek, collecting the tears as quickly as they fell.

"I just miss her," she sighed.

"I know you do."

Kate looked over her shoulder, back out to the water.

"Is there anything I can do?" Rick asked.

"No." She shook her head but offered a small, sincere smile that told him just being there was enough. "Can you just... hold me?"

He smiled. "Of course."

She snaked her arms around his waist, huddled herself into the warmth of his body and pressed her cheek to his chest. He enveloped her in his arms and held her tight.

They stayed exactly as they were until the warm, golden glow of the impending sunrise could be seen over the horizon.

PROMPT: "Your hands are freezing!"

(Set season 5.)

She let herself in with her key. He had gifted it to her not long after they started dating but, given that they were always together, she'd never had reason to use it.

But she had been determined to finish up her paperwork before heading home for the night and - seeing as he could barely keep his eyes open while sitting in his chair by her desk - she had insisted he go home and try to get some sleep. It had been a long few days, and she promised that she wouldn't be too far behind him.

Two hours later she was tiptoeing through the darkness of his home, eager to be able to curl up beside him and drift off to sleep in the warmth of his arms.

She pulled his dresser drawer open slowly - careful not to make too much noise - and pulled a sweater from the very back of the drawer. She couldn't see which one she'd pulled out but she knew he wouldn't mind; even if he hadn't made such an effort in the past to tell her how much he loved the sight of her in his clothes, she could always tell by the way he couldn't help but stare, the way his eyes darkened as he got lost in whatever thoughts occupied his mind.

She dropped her clothes in a pile beside the dresser to deal with in the morning and slipped the sweater over her head.

"Don't cover up," Castle mumbled, still half asleep. "Was enjoying the show."

"It's almost pitch-black in here," Beckett whispered as she slowly made her way toward the bed. "How can you enjoy what you can barely even see?"

Castle pulled the sheets back for her and she crawled into bed with him.

"I think you underestimate the allure of a sexy silhouette undressing," he explained.

In the darkness he found her face, pressed his palm to her cheek and guided her toward him for a short but sweet kiss. He gasped - no, shrieked! - when she slipped her hands under his shirt.

"Your hands are freezing!" he complained as he grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands from his sides.

She tried not to laugh but when he squirmed away from her touch, she couldn't help it.

"I'm sorry," she insisted in between infectious little giggles.

"Yeah, sounds like it," he grumbled as he released one of her wrists and reached to tickle her side.

"Castle!" she squawked as her body jerked away from him and her giggles turned to bursts of deep, hearty laughter as she flailed about under the attack of his fingers at her ribs.

She pushed off of the mattress, onto her knees and crawled to the end of the bed but he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back against him.

"No, I'll stop," he promised through his breathless laughter. He leant back against the pillows, bringing her with him, and pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'm done, I promise."

She turned in his arms, cuddled into his chest. "Happy now that you got your revenge?"

"Mm-hmm," he hummed. He fixed up the bedding, tucked the sheets around them both and pulled the duvet up to cover her shoulders before settling in closing his eyes. "Very happy."

Slowly, she inched her hands closer to the hem of his shirt but - although he couldn't quite stop his abs from twitching when she slipped them under the material - he didn't say or do anything to try to stop her. He appreciated his new role of human heater, cherished the fact that his was the bed she chose to crawl into on the cold winter nights.

"Goodnight, my love," he whispered as he began to drift off to sleep again.

"Goodnight," she whispered back. "Love you."

PAPER PLANES

An hour had passed and they were still stuck.

Over an hour, actually - sixty-seven minutes if you wanted to be precise - but in this sweltering metal box, sixty-seven minutes had felt like a lifetime.

"Why the hell is it so hot in here?" she complained as she undid yet another button of her blouse and tugged the material open.

Castle's eyes widened at the glimpse of lace that peaked out from under her shirt. Kate rolled her eyes, hung her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

"Nothing you haven't seen before, Castle."

"What can I say?" He shrugged. "Being at the precinct adds a little extra flare of excitement, I guess."

Kate huffed, opened her eyes just long enough to shoot him an unimpressed glare.

"Don't go getting any ideas," she mumbled as she rolled her entire body to press her forehead against the cool metal wall behind her.

Castle stepped closer; she felt his presence, the warmth of his body radiating in her space. Too warm. She put her hand up, pressed her palm to his chest to keep just a small amount of distance between them but he reached out, wrapped his arm around her waist.

"Kate," he whispered, his voice laced with concern. "Are you okay?"

"It's just-" She forced her eyes open again and took a moment to look down at Castle's attire: his usual business casual, thick overcoat already on. "Aren't you hot?" she asked, a little confused as to how he could stand so many layers.

"It's the middle of winter," he complained, answering her question. She groaned and leant further into his embrace.

Despite her current discomfort, the way he held her had always managed to somehow make everything better.

"Sit with me," he said softly before helping her lower herself into the corner of the carriage. He sat beside her; back against the wall and legs outstretched to the centre of the elevator. "Can I have that?"

Kate turned her attention to him, noticed his eyes fixed on the leather binder tucked under her arm. She passed it to him and watched as he opened it, flipped to the back and pulled a loose sheet of paper from it.

He closed the binder again and placed it on his lap. Using it as a table, he placed the piece of paper on it and began to make several folds.

She continued to watch as he folded, shuffled and flipped the paper until it somewhat resembled a plane.

"I don't think that's going to go very far," she commented sarcastically.

He clicked his tongue at her. "It doesn't have to go far."

He made one final fold before holding the paper plane above his shoulder, near his cheek. With the flick of his wrist he sent it soaring.

The plane looped - not one, but twice! - before crashing into the wall opposite them.

Castle turned his head, fully intent on throwing out a teasing I told you so. But when he saw the wide-eyed look of wonderment on Beckett's face, the words never formed.

"How did you get it to loop?"

"That's top secret," he teased.

But she wanted to know all of his secrets - would happily spend the rest of her life trying to figure them out.

He grabbed two more sheets of paper from her binder and passed one to her before going through each step, teaching her how to perfectly craft a looping plane.

When done, he held his up and tossed it. They watched as it danced through the air, performing one perfect loop before crashing into the wall.

"Your turn," he encouraged.

Beckett tossed hers - just as Castle had shown her - but it did not loop.

Castle laughed at the frustrated huff Beckett let out. "Try again."

She shifted, reached across and grabbed her plane from where it had crash-landed. She straightened the damaged nose, fixed the creases of the wings and then tossed it again.

Once more, it flew directly to it's demise. No loops.

Castle passed her another sheet of paper. "Again. This time try folding the wings up instead of down."

He instructed her, step-by-step, how to make the new plane. She followed his directions, allowed him to inspect her work before giving this activity one last chance.

She inhaled deeply, let the breath out slowly, then tossed the plane.

It looped perfectly.

Beckett laughed excitedly, slapped her palm to Castle's shoulder as if to make sure he had been watching. "It worked!" She looked at him, noticed his eyes already glued to her. A little half-smile curled his lips as he watched her.

She was sure she would never get used tot hat: the way he looked at her with so much unrestrained adoration in his eyes; his love for her so evident on his face.

"What?" she asked, self-consciousness creeping up on her.

But his smile brightened, the adoration in his eyes grew stronger.

"You're kinda cute," he said with a shrug.

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't stop the smile spreading across her face. "Shut up," she grumbled softly.

She leant her head against his shoulder, snuggled up closer as a chill ran down her spine.

And suddenly she realized his plan: to distract her, to calm her.

He had managed to bring her out of her own head, to calm the unexpected claustrophobic panic with such ease. A part of her hated how successful he was, how he somehow knew her better than she knew herself. A bigger part of her was just so grateful to have him.

He leant his head to rest atop hers.

"Castle?" she beckoned in a soft voice. He hummed. "I'm sorry I was... grumpy."

He smiled to himself. "What ever do you mean, dear?" he asked sarcastically.

She let out a small, amused huff and wrapped her arms around his bicep.

"I love you."

Castle pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I love you, too."

I brought you flowers.

(Trigger warning: death of a main character)

"I brought you flowers."

The words had slipped from his mouth - stumbled awkwardly, actually - as if the colourful bouquet he held between them hadn't already told her so.

But her eyes were glistening from unshed tears; tears that he had no doubt she had spent the better part of her day trying to hold back. And the smile she forced as she explained that Josh was on the other side of the world... well, it broke his heart. Shattered it into a million pieces. She was all alone.

He had just wanted to make it better, to fix everything that had ever gone wrong in her life. He knew that flowers were barely a band-aid over the metaphorical bullet hole that made her heart ache, but he didn't know what else he could do. And as she stared at the bouquet - as if it was going to be the thing to break her, to send her toppling over the edge - he had cursed Raglan and his need to repent for the sins of the past.

He should have left his secrets buried; left Beckett in the dark.

If he had, she never would have caught Lockwood. Never would have picked up the scent that led her down this rabbit hole.

If he had, she would have continued on as she had been, blissfully unaware. Unaware of just how deep the conspiring ran. Unaware of just how dark the real world could be. Unaware of the fact that her closest mentor - someone she had always trusted and admired, someone she had always considered family - had betrayed her in a way that she could never fully recover from.

If he had, she would still be here.

Castle knelt in front of the polish granite headstone, placed the brightly coloured bouquet in the memorial vase staked in the soft, sleet covered ground.

He stared at the named etched into stone. Six months later and it still didn't seem real: he had been unable to stop her; unable to save her.

He pressed his fingertips to his lips, bowed his head as tears began to fall. Nothing had ever hurt him like this; like knowing the great love of his life would never be his, never be here. It was an ache that would never dull, a weight he would forever carry.

"Happy birthday, Kate," he whispered shakily.

He pressed a kiss to his fingertips then slowly reached out and touched them to the gravestone. He waited - as he always did - to feel some magical connection to her, for some sign that she was still here with him in some way, but he felt nothing more than the gentle winter breeze as it rustled the fallen leaves.

"I brought you flowers."

3x13 alternate ending

(trigger warning: cheating trope)

Not a word had been exchanged between them: not as they left the scene; not as she drove him back to her apartment instead of his; not as he followed her upstairs, into her home and toward her bedroom. And now, as they stood - still in absolute silence - his gaze burned like flames against her skin; like the room was burning down around her, fire stealing the oxygen from around her.

But he could save her.

His touch - knuckles grazed gently along her cheek, the pad of his thumb to her bottom lip - it could soothe the burn, heal her scars and right their wrongs.

Because, yes, she was well aware that every part of this was wrong. An act of treachery, of faithlessness. If she crossed this line she would lose everything. She would lose the man she was certain she could love.

But could love just didn't compare to did love. Castle was the man she did love, despite trying so hard not to.

In this moment, she couldn't - for the life of her - remember a single Goddamn reason why she had tried so hard not to love him.

Castle leaned in closer, the inches between them slowly dwindling away, and (for a short moment) she wondered if he was braver than her, if he would be the one to take this final step over the line the had tiptoed for so long but never dared to cross. Not without the guise of undercover to keep their innocence, anyway.

"Why am I here, Kate?" he whispered and her eyes fluttered shut.

He knew exactly why he was here. She was tired of pretending: they both were. Tired of pretending that this thing between them was nothing more than platonic. Tired of pretending the bodies that filled their beds at night were anything more than a stand-in. Tired of pretending that they weren't aware that the exact thing that they needed, that they craved, could be found in the person standing right by there side all this time.

Tonight, in the midst of chaos - when her mind was a frenzy, her heart pounded erratically and the fear she felt for her team coursed like ice through her veins - he calmed her, made her feel safe. He felt like home. She needed that.

Needed him.

With just the slightest tilt of her head, her lips brushed against his. Soft, nervous; not at all like the kiss they had shared just hours earlier. She was giving him a chance to pull away, to stop this before it went too far but he didn't.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her body against his; his other hand weaved through her hair.

It didn't take long for caution to be replaced by heat: by their shameless need for one another, for more touch and less clothes; by the pinch of teeth on flesh, soothed by peppered kisses and gentle tongues; by breathless moans and pleasured sighs that filled the air as they became one and danced oh so carelessly past the point of no return.

Yes, every part of this was wrong.

She didn't want to be right.