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Scribbles and Whiskers

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The warmth in her stomach burns with a powerful flame. Her brain is working at an incredible speed, thoughts are running around like lightning. No words are coming out of her anymore. She definitely wasn't expecting this to be written there. These words. She breathes in a deep breath, leaning her back against the wall of the bathroom. She swallows, tries to settle the butterflies in her stomach.

The emotions run wild inside her. The one that joins the flame in her heart first is fear. It courses through her like a tsunami. Fear - of his love. She can't be worthy of it. She heard him say those exact words months ago in the cemetery. When her world collapsed around her. She remembers those words, the joy and happiness that surged through her at that moment. But the emotions are covered with pain, panic and emptiness. Every time she remembers those words, the motion, the pain, is always there with her. She takes in a another gasp of breath, but it sounds more like a sob. She tries to contain herself. "No, not the panic attack, not now," she pleads. She manages to take deep breaths, calming her system down. Tentatively opening her eyes and letting the luminescent glow from the lights in the ceiling into her system again, the shaking of her hands subsides and the beating of her heart slows. She is okay. "I am okay," she keeps telling herself like a mantra.

She pushes herself away from the wall and stands in front of the mirror again. She looks at her reflection - her cheeks slightly red, her eyes a little bit big and panicky. Raising her hand, she uncovers the scribble again. This time, she looks at it longer, getting used to the feeling. Getting used to the words on her chest. She slides a finger over it, just like trying to figure out if this is real or not. Yep. This is real. This is happening.

She looks away from her reflection again, pushes herself away from the sink below and starts pacing around the bathroom. She thanks higher powers that the precinct is deserted at this time of the evening and she is alone in here. She couldn't handle her co-workers at the moment. Slowly pacing, her thoughts swallow her like a black hole swallows matter. She is calm now, but her head is buzzing. Does he mean it? Why did he write that, why did he write that now? He was supposed to be leaving? Why this, why now? Even though she had come to grips with all that happened last fall and thought she had pulled herself through therapy, this was still a shock. A challenge to her fragile system. But now, as it seems, the drama still has an effect on her. She desperately wants to change that. She has feelings for this man. Strong, powerful feelings that keep her awake at night. Their connection, the cosmic pull between them, it has always enchanted her, entranced her and coaxed her in like a flame does to a moth. Why did the simple scribble force her into panic mode? Those three simple words should have made her happier, ecstatic. Why does her subconscious choose fear first? Why?

She stops her pacing and stands in front of the mirror again. Her hands search for the writing again. When she looks at it again, she feels the fear slowly subsiding as the warmth the scribble initially created in her, takes its stand. For the first time since she stepped into this room, she smiles. This is happening. Her fingers gently caress the tiny writing. Those three words are really on her chest. Just three simple words which sum up everything about him. He loves her. Oh, please, I hope he means it. He better mean it. She stands there for a while, just looking at her small figure from the mirror. The change in her eyes, her posture - how all of her body changes, from fear to content. No envy, no fear. She smiles at her reflection. Hearing a commotion outside the bathroom, her consciousness snaps back to reality. Narrowing her eyes she decides - they need to talk.


He cannot do this level again. He has been trying to free those birds in this level for some time already and he is sick of that particular setup. This game is frustrating. He hisses at his phone and closes his Angry Birds app. He looks around the floor but nobody is there. Quite a long time has passed since Beckett signaled him that she was using the bathroom. Where is she? Did she sneak away silently without telling him anything? Is she still in the bathroom? He stands up from his chair and walks up to the murder board. Going over the details of the case again. Damn, this case is a sneaky one. Hopefully the next day brings more clues and more action. He doesn't want his last case to be so boring. He stops his train of thoughts. His last case? Oh yeah, he had told everybody that it really was his last case with the homicide crew.

He really doesn't want to go. He wants to stay there with her. To be with her. But he can't torture himself that way anymore. The writing he wrote on her chest, it was like the last straw, as he desperately wanted that information to reach her. For her to see what she means to him. If she doesn't care about this scribble, then all of his chances are gone. If she doesn't care, then he is done. He can't do it anymore.

He is flustered, thinking back to the events in the elevator. The day had started so differently, with tension in the air. How the hell had they ended up kissing? He sighs and touches his lips with his fingertips. That kiss was … even he doesn't have any words for it anymore. It was extremely hot. It made his heart beat so fast, he had thought his heart would be flying out of his chest soon. He still feels her lips on his. He raises his hand to touch his lips, closing his eyes and savouring the moment. That kiss had to mean something. If it didn't mean anything, then he could never kiss those lips again. And that would be bad. Really bad. He opens his eyes suddenly, decision in his head made up. He needs... he really needs to talk with her.

As soon as he is finished with that thought he hears a women's bathroom door open in the back end of the homicide floor. He turns himself around to see Beckett entering the office. She looks flustered and shaky. He furrows his brow, not understanding what is going on and continues to watch her as she walks closer to her desk. Her face is beaming with some kind of confusion and certainness, her whole posture has changed since he last saw her. He wonders what happened. She arrives at her desk and he forgets the questions in his head. She stops and smiles at him.

"I think we need to talk," she simply says.

He looks at her, confusion intertwines with curiosity and he agrees "Yes, I think we need to do that." She nods and starts to collect her belongings.

"Remy's?" he asks, while she throws on her jacket.

"Hmm..." she makes a thinking sound. "I think we need something more private," she continues her thoughts.

"Oh, okay," he is surprised again. "How about my loft then. Alexis is out today, so it will be deserted," he offers as they start walking to the elevator.

"I think that sounds good," Kate nods.

They both stop in front of the elevator and in unison they look at each other. Remembering what happened before, neither of them wants to take the elevator again. She smiles and asks, "Stairs?" He nods and they start walking in silence, slightly bumping shoulders when they enter the door leading to the stairwell.

Beckett steps to the stairs first and descends to the next level with a slow pace, as she is thinking through things in her head. Castle follows her with the same pace, but soon he walks by her side, watching her intently. She seems to be deep in her thoughts because she doesn't seem to notice his gaze.

As they reach the ground level, Kates extends an arm to open the door to the lobby. When said door doesn't yield to her attempt, she shakes the handle again, but with no luck. The door remains closed.

"You've gotta be kidding me, " she mumbles.