Yay! Done! And just in time for the actual episode. I watched all the little sneak peaks and it looks like I was waaaay off-base with this whole reaction-to-Royce's-death thing, but oh well. Creative liberties, I guess!

I'm planning on doing an epilogue (hopefully before Monday, but I can't make any promises) just to bring everything back full-circle.

Enjoy, and as always – Castle is owned by ABC.

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Castle reached the landing between the Homicide and Robbery floors only to have Beckett abruptly stop her fast-paced descent. A step behind, he regarded her rigid form in surprise. She had gone from a mad dash to a stand-still in half a second – it was as if someone had flipped a switch and given her an electric shock.

What had caused the sudden halt?

Castle opened his mouth to dare voice the question, but never got the chance. At that moment, Beckett stumbled forward towards the edge of the stairs and Castle reacted on instinct. His right hand shot out and grabbed her right forearm; partially to hold her steady, and partially to keep her from getting too close to the stairs.

His mind reeled.

"Kate...?" Beckett's first name fell past his lips. It was a name Castle reserved only for times when the world was about to swallow her up.

Times like right now.

What was happening? The writer wracked his brain trying to remember the bit of research he had done years ago on the seven phases of loss. He knew the first two phases well enough from watching Beckett work through them with her victims' families. Shock was phase one. Pain was phase two. And with the possibility of lasting from minutes to decades, Castle was always fascinated by how quickly or slowly each individual would journey through them.

Sitting in Montgomery's office, however, the writer had felt anything but fascination. He had witnessed Beckett push through the shock and force herself through the pain. He shouldn't have been surprised that she had the strength to do so – to drive it away and focus on her responsibilities as a homicide detective. She had asked questions. She had fished for clues. She had pushed the pain aside in order to do her job. The woman truly was nothing short of extraordinary. But despite these efforts, Castle could tell what it was costing her. It had certainly been clear enough for Montgomery to spot, and the captain's remedy had been for Beckett to take the rest of the day off. But Castle suspected that what had started as a well-meaning suggestion had ended up being the trigger for the next phase. When she had stormed from the office hell-bent on going anywhere but home, even the idiots being hauled away for yet another B&E would have correctly guessed what Beckett had been feeling: phase three. Anger.

Luckily, Castle was fairly accustomed to Angry Beckett. And he certainly had enough experience in dealing with scores of other enraged women – jilted lovers, booking agents, publishers, his mother and daughter, random fans who didn't like the way his latest novel had ended – to know that the safest thing to do sometimes was keep your mouth shut and just let them vent. As he had chased after Beckett, he had prepared himself for that. Prepared himself for the rage, for the screaming, and since this was Beckett; for the almost certainty of violence. But he was willing to take a few bruises (and worse) if it meant helping her through this a little faster. It's what he had promised, wasn't it? To take care of her, no matter what? But now, in the cold confinements of the stairwell, the writer felt an uneasy sense of dread at this new development.

Castle watched as Beckett's left arm, the one that was still holding up the jacket swung over her shoulder, slipped and fell. The sound of her coat hitting the floor had mimicked the thud of her arm hitting her side. He immediately grabbed the limp forearm.

"Kate…" The anxiety Castle felt steadily grew as his imagination concocted a myriad of explanations and outcomes for their current state. Nothing he could come up with, however, was close to what came next.

Beckett crumbled; and as Castle instantly pulled her backwards and against him, a single thought exploded in his brain which made everything heartbreakingly clear.

Phase four: depression.

When Beckett collided with his chest, Castle released one hand in order to scoop his arm around her ribs. Instantly securing his grip there, he released his other hand so to repeat the action and amplify his ability to keep her upright. Beckett sagged in his embrace, but remained standing. He could feel, however, that her strength was slowly ebbing away.

Castle tried to concentrate on what to do next, but it felt like he'd been sucker punched right in the gut. He had been ready for anger, and perhaps even some eventual tears. But this? Castle had never seen Beckett like this before. And it scared him.

As she steadily grew heavier in his arms, however, the writer knew he had to act fast. The man was strong, but holding up Beckettversus holding up 130-something pounds of dead weight was infinitely different.

Picking the easiest and safest option currently available, Castle half walked, half dragged his partner backwards the few steps it took to reach the landing's far wall. Still a few inches away, he let himself fall against it with a muffled thud, and after spreading his legs out for maximum support, used the wall as leverage in order to slowly and carefully slide down its cool surface.

Beckett didn't resist.

When they reached the floor, Castle unbent his knees and stretched his legs out along the detective's. Her head had come to rest limply against his right shoulder and the rest of her body had fully relaxed against him. Castle tried to relax as well. After all, he had imagined her like this, wrapped up in his embrace, so many countless times. Sitting on some tropical beach watching the sun set across the water. Relaxing by a fire after a day of skiing in the Alps. Curled up on his couch and playfully discussed which Hollywood star would make the best Green Lantern.

But not like this. Never, ever like this.

Beckett was relaxed, but in a way that made her seem lifeless; as if her soul had been sucked out by some unseen evil. It both unnerved him and caused his heart to plummet down to the parking garage almost four stories below.

And her eyes…

Castle shuddered, and looked away from her profile. Pressing his cheek into her hair, he vowed to never let that dead expression cross her face again.

Removing his left arm from around her waist, he raised it up and began to lightly caress her auburn locks.

"Hey," he whispered, giving her a gentle squeeze with the arm remaining around her torso. "Hey…listen to me. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay."

Beckett didn't respond.

He continued the light caresses, but raised his head from hers in order to look back down at her profile. Switching tactics, he continued. "You and I, we are going to solve this case. We are going to catch whoever did this, and we are going to make him pay."

Still, nothing.

"I am with you one hundred and fifty percent," he stated firmly. "Whatever needs to happen, no matter what kinds of strings need to be pulled, I will find a way to make it happen. We are going to close this case. We are going to find justice."

Silence.

"Come on, Kate," Castle pleaded, shaking her lightly. He was starting to feel desperate. "Please. Say something."

It was agonizing to see her like this, with her dead eyes and utter unresponsiveness. He felt ready to do anything at that point to get some sort of reaction from her. Light his eyebrows on fire. March a parade down the stairs. Blast that new Britney Spears song she hated. Tell her he –

Oh.

Castle knew in that moment what he had to do. It was one of his so-crazy-it-just-might-work theories, but damn it, if there was ever a time to try something crazy…this was probably it. And if this didn't get some kind of reaction – good or bad, he almost didn't care – then God help them all.

He stopped stroking her hair in order to cup the side of Beckett's face and angle it more towards his own. Staring into her eyes, the writer tried to convey everything he felt with them.

"Kate," Castle began, feeling his heart booming in his chest. This was it. All these years, all the flirting and banter, fights and laughs….it had all come down to this moment. "I want you to listen to me very carefully, because what I'm about to say is extremely important. And while I don't know what you'll think, and I don't know if it will make any difference to you, I have to say it anyway." He took a shaky breath. "From the moment you crashed my book signing party three years ago, I knew there was something about you. Yes, I found you incredibly attractive. And yes, my immediate thought was how good you'd be in bed, but that was before I got to know you. That was before I got to know how incredibly intelligent you are. And how compassionate. How tough you are…how funny, brave, witty, dedicated, caring…I could go on and on for days. Sufficient to say, you the most amazing woman I've ever met, and you can't spend all your time around someone like that and not have it change you. Kate, you have changed me. You have changed me in ways you can't even begin to imagine. You have inspired me, and because of you, I have become a better father, a better son, a better friend…and a better person."

Castle stopped there to let the message sink in before he went for the big finish. It appeared that Beckett's expression had remained much the same. But maybe - just maybe – he could see something slightly different in her look. Something that told him she was listening. He prayed to God he was right.

"And when you consider all of that," he continued, his voice thick with emotion, "I guess it's really no surprise why, Katherine Beckett, I am so completely in love with you."

Feeling relieved that it was over, hopeful that his confession would do the trick, and terrified that he had just made the biggest mistake of his life, Castle leaned forward and pressed his lips to Beckett's forehead. It was a simple kiss, physically. But emotionally, Castle poured everything he had into it.

When he pulled away a few heartbeats later, his eyes immediately found that hers were closed. Castle almost stopped breathing as he waited. And waited.

And waited.

Then – Beckett slowly opened her eyes and met his gaze. And what he saw took away his last bit of breath.

Her eyes were sparkling, like the stars do after a deep fog has finally lifted away, leaving only an endless inky sky and the twinkling of the universe. It was beautiful. She was beautiful.

"Rick," Beckett whispered, as the tiniest smile began to form.

Castle's heart leapt at the sound of his first name. He smiled back tenderly as he stroked her cheek with his thumb.

"I love you, too." She sniffed. "Now let's go catch us a killer."

"Let's do it," the writer replied, his smile widening into a huge grin. "But first, did you want a Kleenex?"