Author's Note: As for the fourth word, I SWEAR it actually came up. I even took a screen shot for any dissenters.
Poker (S01E08 "Ghosts")
It was the poker game when she knew. He had been acting funny, more so than usual, and his emotions were stronger. Some days he would come home with a bounce in his step and a ridiculously happy grin on his face. Other days he would come home distressed by a burden than was not his own. She had had her suspicions, but when she took a peak at his hand, she knew.
Richard Castle, egotistical and cocky, would never throw a hand of poker. Sure, he could be charming and rather romantic, the later often to a fault, but he simply would not fold when he held such fantastic cards in his hands for just any woman.
Kate Beckett was clearly someone he cared deeply for, and that was something Martha Rodgers was rather thrilled about.
"As a result," he started, his suave storytelling voice rising in timbre, "The beautiful figure skater hitched a ride with the handsome space cowboy, and they lived happily ever after."
Their child giggled.
Porter (A person hired to carry burdens or baggage, as at a railroad station or a hotel; or, a person who has charge of a door or gate, like a doorkeeper)
Katherine Beckett liked being in control. Whether that meant controlling the remote as a teen or taking charge of her life and its direction as an adult, she would make sure everything panned out the way she wanted. Somehow, when Castle came along, she unconsciously dropped the reigns and let him lead from time to time.
And, somehow, she has learned to let him co-lead her heart and carry some of her burden.
Growing up, his mother told him elaborate bedtime stories filled with Arabian princes, exotic spies, and wonderful mothers. He once believed such stories, casting his father in the role of the Arabian king or the exotic spy fighting the space aliens. Then he realized they were all make believe, pure fiction; Martha had spun stories, built a castle full of facetious explanations and false hope. When he decided to write some of his own, he wanted to keep the line between truth and fiction intact, and created a new identity, a new name to always remind him of the difference.
After a night freezing in a cooler, a bullet to the heart, nearly drowning in a car, and almost falling from a high ledge, she vowed to leave the past and live in the present, a promise she whispered on his warm lips.
Generator (They had to do something during Hurricane Sandy, right?)
When the generator kicked in, a few lights flooded through the apartment, casting soft shadows across their bodies, but their passion did not stop.
The one time he wants to save her the most, the one time she needs saving the most, and he is helpless.
It is amazing how fast a change can come upon someone. At any given moment, a person may transform in another's eye. In a brief second, one can go from thirsting for one sensation to dying for another. Or, a feeling can be lost, forgotten at the snap of one's fingers.
Like a quick flick of a light switch illuminates a room, passion sparks. Stillness may permeate the room, but within seconds of lighting a match, the gasoline's fumes met the spark and a trail of flames shoots through a once-abandoned warehouse. Flames lick the walls in a giant ball, following the flammable liquid's trail, until the fire catches onto the desired object and a channeled burn ensues, fed for a while by the igniting agent.
You brought the match to the track of gas, started the reaction that rapidly spread through my veins until it reached the atrium of my heart.
The fire depleted the oxygen, just like the passion overwhelmed my lungs.
Party (Most dialogue courtesy of "Firefly")
"Are you in pain?" Beckett asked, leaning against the ambulance door as the paramedic bandaged Castle's abdomen.
"Absolutely," answered Castle. "I got stabbed, you know. Right here."
He twisted to the side and showed her the bloody gauze. The paramedic scolded him and, ashamed, he untwisted his body.
Beckett nodded. "I saw."
After a pause, Castle said, "I don't care much for fancy parties. Too rough."
After she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion—he was rich and had thrown his share of "fancy parties." "It wasn't entirely a disaster. We caught the guy."
Castle turned and pointed once more to his wound. "I got stabbed. Right here."
She rolled her eyes and walked away.
Beckett honked at the car in front of her, willing them to actually accelerate on a green light, as she answered the phone.
"Uh, yeah," Castle replied, his voice seemingly far away from the phone's speaker. "Would you mind coming over? I'm… well, I'm stuck."
Beckett sighed. "Do I even want to know?"
"No, not really," he said, rapidly, before she hung up the phone.
When she knocked, he hollered for her to let herself in. "You really shouldn't leave your front door unlocked, Castle," she yelled as she walked into the foyer. She heard a grunt and something heavy scraping along the wood floor. "Castle?"
After a moment, he called, "In the bedroom!"
She ran towards the back of the loft and busted the door open. Once her mind processed the scene before her, she dropped her shoulders and holstered her gun. "Hello Kitty duct tape?"
Castle tried to shrug, but Alexis and his mother had duct tapped him to the chair so tightly that his movements were imperceptible. It had taken him an hour to move across the room, slide his shoe off, and call Beckett with his big toe.
"It was on sale!" was his only defense.