Hello again, briefly. Just a very short tale, to exercise some different muscles for an hour or two. I've been busy, and I still am, but I haven't forgotten about you. I hope you're well.

As Edinburgh finally quietens down again after the close of the yearly festival, here are a few words about a different city. Vaguely season 4, AU, one-shot.

-MG

When Beckett stepped out of her bedroom and back into the main area of her apartment, she frowned. She'd left Castle on the couch, as they pored over the notes for their latest case, but he was nowhere to be seen.

He'd finally managed to drag her away from the precinct around 8PM, and it was now just after eleven. They'd eaten a dinner of takeout while working, and about half an hour earlier her father had called her. She'd stepped into her bedroom to take the call, and expected Castle to be right where she left him when she got back.

She took a few steps forward, then heard the tell-tale sound of slow, restful breathing. She smirked, continuing towards the couch with softer footsteps. And sure enough, there he was: lying full out on his back, arms folded, legs crossed at the ankles, asleep. His shirt sleeves were still rolled up, and there was a lock of dark hair lying across his forehead. He looked completely at peace. Her smile widened.

For what was probably the twentieth time that week, she sighed. All the sessions with Burke. All the quick questions and slow answers. All the days and months since Montgomery's funeral. She knew that she was almost ready, and as the weeks passed, she was more and more sure that the almost part was dwindling down to nothing.

Castle moved slightly, adjusting his position, but he didn't open his eyes. Beckett waited a few seconds, then closed the last of the distance to the couch. After a moment, she knelt down beside it, in the space between the couch and the coffee table, at the end where Castle's head was.

My partner, she thought.

The word could mean so many things. As a writer, he could probably tell her everything about its etymology, and maybe she'd even ask him sometime. But for her, it had at least three meanings, each one so important.

Her partner in the NYPD, even though he was technically a civilian consultant. Always there with her, even when the leads weren't panning out, like tonight. Always watching her back. Always answering his phone, no matter what hour of the day or night.

Her partner outside of work; her friend. Always there with an understanding look and a hug when the anniversary of her mother's death came around yet again. Always offering invitations: to dinner, to coffee at the weekend, to a movie, or even to those grander things from his own peculiar world. Always a sympathetic ear, and a strong if not quite silent presence at her shoulder.

Her partner in life. She already knew that he was, and would be. Always waiting for her to be ready. Always gently guiding her down the path that led to them being together, but not pushing. Always having faith in that hope for the future. Always with a smile reserved for her alone.

Always in love with her.

When you got right down to it, always was what he was all about. Richard Castle. Her partner.

His brow twitched, and she reached up instinctively to sweep the lone lock of hair from his forehead. His nostrils flared briefly, and then the ghost of a smile passed across his lips, and he sighed.

I know, she thought. Me too.

It was only about thirty seconds later that he inhaled deeply, and his eyes opened. His eyebrows lifted slightly at her proximity, but any comment he might have made was swallowed by a yawn.

Beckett ran her hand across his chest. "Hey," she said softly, and he grinned at her sheepishly.

"Sorry," he replied. "Your couch is too comfy. How's your dad?"

"He's good," she said. "Just catching up. He says hi."

"Hi to dad."

She smiled, her hand still brushing back and forth across the front of his shirt. His gaze flicked down to track the movement for a moment, then he looked at her again.

She could read his eyes effortlessly. Curiosity, hope, caution, and that strong feeling that sat behind everything he said to her, and everything he did for her. Finally, she saw him push down whatever remark he'd been going to make, instead simply giving her a small smile; a safe smile.

What am I doing? she thought, but this time it was about what she wasn't doing — what she hadn't done, and was holding back from doing, just as she'd been for so long now.

"Uh, what time is it?" he asked, perhaps sensing something in her and trying to sidestep any discomfort she might be feeling. It was another of the many accommodations he made for her, every day.

"It's late," she said, and Castle nodded.

"Of course," he replied, moving to sit up, giving her another smile. "Sorry. I should get going."

Beckett moved back slightly, allowing him to rise to a sitting position, swinging his legs off the couch and putting his feet on the floor. His shoes sat side by side nearby, and his blazer was draped over the back of the couch, just beside the tartan blanket that was always folded there. After a moment, she stood up, and then so did he, stretching as he did so.

My partner, she thought.

Castle half-turned to reach for his blazer, but he was stopped by her hand on his arm.

"Stay," she said.

There was silence for a long moment, and again the flurry of feelings chasing across his eyes. Then the disarming, safe smile again, and a small nod.

"OK," he replied. "Thanks. It really is a comfy couch. Better than mine."

Now he reached towards the blanket instead, but Beckett slid her hand down his arm and intertwined her fingers with his. She heard his intake of breath, and saw the questioning look in his eyes.

"Aren't you tired?" she asked softly, and his brow creased. "Of waiting. Every day now, I just… I can't remember why we're waiting. I'm so tired, Castle. Can't it just… be time?"

His jaw worked, and he swallowed, evidently not trusting his voice for a few moments. Eventually, he spoke, and his voice was a choked whisper.

"Kate," he said. "You… know how I—"

"I know," she said. "And… me too."

His eyes flared, and again she heard his breath catch.

"So–?" he asked, and it might have been any of several different questions. The answer was the same.

"So stay," she said. "With me."

The clock on the wall ticked ten times, and it was the only sound in the large room. Then he nodded.

She squeezed his hand, then tugged gently to lead him away from the couch.

He followed.

Author's Note: This was written in an hour, in a Starbucks here in Edinburgh. Back to my other writing now. Maybe I'll see you here again sometime.

Thanks for reading.

-Matt