A/N: The events here take place approximately three hours after Dotting the I's. I highly recommend reading that first. Enjoy.


Crossing the T's

The uninterrupted sound of haunting violins playing over and over in a continuous loop matched to perfection the steady rising and falling of Richard Castle's chest. With his head tipped down he was making soft whiffling noises that just missed being categorized as snores. His cheek, pressed ever so gently against a crown of soft auburn hair, was faint pink. He was in his favorite spot on the sofa, his right arm outstretched along the back of the cushions, his shoulder acting as a pillow for the woman snuggled against it.

Shifting slightly, Kate Beckett slowly lifted heavy eyelids and blinked rapidly. It took her a moment to reorient herself to the surroundings, to remember where she was and why she was there. It didn't take long for the memories to come sweeping back. Sighing happily, she looked over at the TV and had to suppress a soft chuckle. The main menu of The Killer stood as a pitiful reminder that Castle and she both had fallen asleep before the epic shootout at the church—the grand finale of the John Woo film. She looked back at his still form and a soft, feminine smile lighted on her mouth.

His hair was tousled and floppy but the lines on his face were smooth. Even the crinkles around his eyes were gone, as though Sleep, the magical restorer of beauty, had ferried them away. She couldn't get over the transformation. So this is what living well does for you, she thought, her smile widening. He looks as peaceful as a baby! A swell of emotion rose from the core of her being and fanned out throughout her body and soul. Unable to stop herself, she leaned forward and tenderly placed a feather-light kiss on his cheek.

"I love you," she whispered, and although she couldn't be sure, she thought she saw the corners of his mouth curve up in response. Then, ever so gently, she extracted herself from his arm and the sofa, standing to her feet.

Immediately she felt the muscles in her neck, shoulders, arms and legs tense. A quick frown replaced her smile. I lounged in one position for too long, she realized, her left hand already trying to work out the kink in her neck. Looking around for the throw she had unceremoniously kicked off hours before, she spotted it in a dark heap at the opposite end of the sofa. She picked it up, shook it out, and caringly fitted it around his slumbering frame. Ouch! Even bending over that far hurts, she thought as she squeezed her eyes shut to block out the uncomfortable pain. I'm going to have to walk this off at least until I can get some feeling back into my legs.

Walking behind the couch, she ran her fingers along the spines of the hardback books filling the bookcases lining the wall. Some of them, like Castle's personal bestsellers, had pristine dust jackets, their large, embossed letters triggering a tactile friction with the ridges of her fingertips. Others were leather-bound, rich in color as well as texture. Leaning forward to read their titles, she smiled in appreciation. For all of his whimsy and imagination, when it came to his literary collection, he was a purest. Only the classics, like Shakespeare, Ovid, Homer, and—was that Narnia?—got the leather treatment. The rest of the books, though not quite fillers, gave off a middle-class appearance; though hardback like the rest, these were bereft of coverings, like Adam and Eve before the Fall in the Garden of Eden.

Leaning in for a closer look, she squinted to read the title of one, the light emanating from the TV providing just enough illumination for her to make out the words. A soft, muffled noise of surprise rose to her lips before she stifled it with a hand clasped over her mouth.

From somewhere deep within her a giggle fought its way to the surface. How like him is that? I bet he's had this book since he was a kid! She cast a quick glance at his still-sleeping form and breathed a sigh of relief. Her giggle hadn't awoken him. Darting her eyes back to the book in question, she gingerly slid it out of its place and turned it cover up to examine it thoroughly. Encyclopedia Brown, Boy Detective. Shaking her head, her eyes danced in delighted wonder as she flipped it open to the flyleaf. Then, realizing something was scrawled on it, she angled the book toward the light to read what was written.

For Richard,

Thank you for your personal note. It isn't often I have the pleasure of hearing from an intelligent fan such as yourself. You have a gift with words. Use it well. And remember, sometimes solving a mystery isn't as much fun as creating one.

Donald J. Sobel 1981

"1981. Castle couldn't have been more than ten or twelve!" she whispered in awe. It's just like him to write a fan letter to an author. Her hazel eyes sparkled. There's so much I don't know about him, she admitted to herself. I wonder how many other books he has that are signed, how many other authors he took the time to write to? Giving a soft sigh, she returned the book to its place, turned away from the bookcase and, after making sure she hadn't disturbed him, made her way into his office.

Perhaps it was all her years of training that compelled her to investigate his inner sanctum with such care. Perhaps it was a personal goal to turn the tables on him, to dig into his life, to give him a taste of his own medicine which made her scrutinize every inch of his working space. Perhaps it was merely curiosity which led her to switch on the desk lamp for a better view of the silver-framed family photos arranged in a cluster on the right side of his desk. It could have been any of those things, but it wasn't. The truth was simpler than that: She was as drawn to his environment as she was to him.

Kate picked up the framed picture of his family, the one with Martha and Alexis both giving him the kind of squeeze a man deserves when he's either done something so wrong he knows he's in for it the moment the shutter on the camera closes, or he's done something so wonderfully right the only appropriate reaction is a bear hug. With Castle, both scenarios were plausible. It was that perfect dichotomy she loved so much. One minute he was the rascal, the one purposefully pulling her pigtails or encouraging his own teenage daughter to "live a little," and in the next he was the responsible adult, using real ingenuity and intelligence to help her solve cases, the caring father losing sleep worrying for fear something horrible might happen to his pride and joy. Never knowing what Castle would say or do kept Kate on her toes and provoked a polarizing love-hate emotional response.

Setting the picture back where she found it, she was just about to turn away from the desk when something else in the cluster caught her attention. There, hidden behind a tri-fold collection of Alexis' senior pictures, was a smaller, wooden frame. Biting her lower lip, she debated with herself for the span of a heartbeat before curiosity got the better of her. She cautiously lifted the picture, careful not to accidently knock any of the others over. Then, as realization hit her, she drew in her breath sharply.

It's a picture of me! Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open, suspended in surprised disbelief. But how the hell did he get it? I certainly never gave it to him. Her brows furrowed together as she mentally reviewed all of the times he had barged into her apartment. Never once had she shown him this shot. In fact, the only time he had looked at photographs with her was when she had gone through the few snapshots on the roll of film she'd developed after her mother's murder.

That's not entirely true, she reminded herself. There was that time he came over to ask—okay, tell—me about the Johanna Beckett Foundation. He really took me by surprise that night. After everything we went through with that lottery-winner case he was eager to speculate how I'd spend a million dollars. She laughed softly as she remembered some of his wild guesses. And then he went and did something wonderful to honor my mother. Unexpectedly her eyes filled with tears. He really was very sweet. After he pitched me the idea I caved in and went through some of my family pictures with him. We were looking for one particular picture of Mom, but I suppose it's possible he might have snagged this photo of me while I was distracted.

The picture itself was a flattering one. Taken several years earlier, she looked not only younger, but less world-weary as though the sucker punches life had thrown at her hadn't landed yet. But there were still traces of sadness in her expression, especially in her haunted hazel eyes, which belied the happiness her smile was giving off. Lanie took this one, she reminded herself. She insisted it was a good picture so I made sure to give a copy to—

Her eyes snapped and her mouth compressed into a straight line. Dad. Oh, Dad, you've got some 'splaining to do! Since when are my father and Rick Castle hanging out and sharing pictures with each other! More importantly, why is it hiding on Castle's desk?

The answer to the first question needed further investigation, the second was more straightforward. Castle obviously wanted a picture of his muse on hand when he wrote. In that, Kate couldn't really fault him. After all, every writer liked to have prompts nearby in case the dreaded "blank page" struck. What was it Castle called it? She replaced the picture and sighed. Not writer's block . . . Writer's embarrassment!

When she had first read that in the Q&A section of his website, she had been thoroughly amused. Only Castle would phrase it that way then launch into an encouraging explanation of what he meant. Oh, how she had wanted to tease him about that! But she hadn't brought it up. She never brought up things she'd read on his website, or the others about him. To do so would reveal way too much about herself. It was bad enough he knew just how big a fan she was—of his books.

"Okay, so it isn't just his books," she muttered under her breath, turning to look at his extensive action figure collection housed on shelves which wrapped around two walls of his office. More than just toys, his collection was an impressive one dating all the way back to his childhood. Some of the figures she recognized right away, like the vintage set of Batman characters which were obviously inspired by the cult television series. Other figures she didn't recognize, which meant they must have come from more obscure comic books. Although she considered herself a fan of the genre, she was cognizant of the fact his knowledge far surpassed hers. Shaking her head, she was struck again by the paradox he presented her. Childish enough to have saved his action figures, yet adult enough to have kept them in pristine condition on display, it was again another example of his being the man-child she adored.

I love his office, she decided, an unconscious smile lighting her face. Every inch of it screams his personality. Her eyes scanned the rest of the room, taking in the rejection letter he kept deliberately in full view of his desk, the vintage comic strip he had matted and framed (and signed, although she couldn't tell that in the low lighting), and, of course, his larger-than-life murder board. Shaking her head again, she couldn't help but chuckle. Leave it to Castle to get all the latest electronic toys, too. I bet that's the same model we have at the precinct. They have, she reminded herself. They have it, you don't.

Turning away from the large monitor and her tumultuous thoughts, she faced the shelves of action figures again. So it was that she had her back to the doorway and thus failed to notice when a shadowy figure loomed up. She didn't notice him leaning against the door frame, didn't see him cock his head to the side as he observed her, didn't notice the light dancing in his eyes or the grin spreading across his face. Instead, her attention was focused on a group of toys she thought might be Godzilla monsters. Moving forward to get a closer look, she was unaware of the picture she made as she tucked her hair behind her ear, stooped down and reached out with her right hand to pick it up.

"Unt-uh," the man in the doorway said, causing her literally to jump, "No touching!"

She wheeled around, her heart thudding rapidly in her throat. "Castle! What the hell!"

Causally detaching himself from the door frame, he flipped the light switch. The room flooded with bright searing light which caused them both to jerk their heads back then blink furiously.

"So, Beckett . . ." he said, his eyes sweeping her in an admiring glance as a lopsided smile fell across his face.

"I was just—" she started at the same time then broke off as her face flamed red with embarrassment. So cool, she admonished herself. Because blushing isn't a dead giveaway or anything. Way to go, Beckett!

Laughing, he came to stand beside her. "I missed you," he said by way of explanation. "You left."

She shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes. "I didn't leave. I got stiff; I had to walk around a bit."

He nodded his understanding. "So you decided it was the perfect opportunity to snoop."

"'Snooping' isn't a good word, Castle," she informed him, her voice taking on a matter-of-fact tone. "'Investigating.' That's a better word."

"Uh-huh. I own a thesaurus, too, you know. Let's try—'prying.'"

"No," she insisted, "I may have been 'exploring,' but I certainly wasn't 'prying.'"

"'Exploring.' Is that what you're going with? Because I can play this game all day long, my dear detective," he teased, his eyes twinkling. "You're in my bailiwick now." He waved his arms dramatically to emphasize his point. "Literally. Besides, I think the word you're trying to find is 'spying.'"

She opened her mouth to protest, her eyes narrowing into slits as she placed her hands on her hips. "I'm not the one who has some explaining to do."

He recognized that look. That was the expression she used when she was in the Box, when she was interrogating suspects. A lump formed in his throat as he momentarily wondered how he had gone from solid footing to sinking sand in under thirty seconds. Involuntarily taking a step back, he said, "I don't know what you mean."

She was in her element now. "I think you know exactly what I mean. But, since you want to play dumb, I'll indulge you. What are you doing with a Barbie doll?"

"A Barbie do— She's not a doll! She's an action figure!"

"Really. An action figure? Come on, Castle! Batman is an action figure. Morgenstern is an action figure." She bent down, plucked the doll from the clutches of the Godzilla monster and stood again. "This is a doll."

"Well— It's not what— That is to say—" She hit him with her pointed look, the one which said she had all the evidence she needed to put him away for life. "She isn't a Barbie!"

Beckett looked down at the doll in her hand. The blonde, who was suspiciously dressed in an inappropriately indecent, low-cut tank top and even more scandalizingly short miniskirt, was not, as Castle was insisting, a genuine Barbie. A line cut between her brows as she scowled. Her hazel eyes bored into his blue ones. "She may not be an actual Barbie, but that doesn't mean you're off the hook for an explanation."

Gingerly reaching out a hand for his prized possession, Castle took the doll from her and smoothed down its hair. "She really is an action figure. I was using her as Nikki Heat."

Uh, probably shouldn't have said that, he kicked himself as once again a fierce expression descended on her face. I don't know what's worse: being caught with a doll or admitting said doll is a place-holder for my character!

She moved closer to him, leaning in with a finger pointed right at his nose. "You had better be joking, Castle! In the first place, Nikki Heat would never—and I mean never—wear something like this! And in the second place, she doesn't even look like this! And putting her in the clutches of a man-eating lizard! Come on!"

"She was undercover and the evil Draco found out. It's called a 'plot device.' I can't get her out of a jam or let Rook race in to save her if she's not in danger."

Her eyes narrowed again. "Why is it Nikki has to be saved by a man anyway? Isn't that stereotypical?"

He frowned as her point hit home.

Seeing his expression, she pushed even harder. Invading his space, she met and held his eyes as she attacked, "She looks like a hooker! Castle, you promised me you wouldn't do this to her. You promised!"

"I was mad at you!" he sputtered, his eyes wild and searching, looking for an escape. Then realizing what he had said, he clapped his hand over his mouth.

She stepped back, all of the menace gone. "What?"

"Kate," he breathed, setting the doll on a nearby shelf, "I'm sorry. If it's any consolation, I deleted the scene. I did. And I'm not mad anymore."

Her eyes were filled with hurt bewilderment as she studied his face. "I don't understand. If you were mad at me, why would you take it out on your character?"

He sighed. "Can't we forget I said anything?"

She shook her head. "I really want to know."

"Okay." He shot his hands through his hair as he tried to organize his thoughts. Now that the subject was open for discussion, he wanted to handle it the right way. First things first, he told himself, get her out of the office and into space where she won't be able to pick up sharp objects and throw them at you. "Why don't we go back into the other room?"

Taking the hand he offered her, she allowed him to lead her back into the den. He deposited her back on the sofa but didn't join her until he had turned off the television and switched on the surrounding floor lamps. If this was going to be Serious Talk #2, he wanted to be able to read her expressions as clearly as possible.

"That's better," he grunted as he took his seat beside her. She was still a little wide-eyed, so he smiled to reassure her. "Are you sure you want to go into this right now?"

"I'm sure," she told him, and her voice did sound steady and confident. "I want this to work between us, Castle. If it means we have to wade through the muck to get there, then I'll put on my galoshes and wade right in."

He laughed, his deep blue eyes lightening as the mental image of her slipping into rubbers flashed through his mind. Then in a voice seasoned with gravity, he assured, "You won't have to wade through it alone. We're partners. No matter what."

Smiling, she leaned over and kissed him softly on the cheek. "Thank you." Then moving back into her own space again, she crossed her arms and leveled her gaze at his face. "Okay. You first. Why were you mad at me, and why did you put Nikki Heat in that ridiculous outfit?"

He scratched his head. "I—uh, I was mad at you because I'd just found out that—" He broke off and looked at her helplessly.

"I'm waiting," she prompted, a hint of humor lurking in her hazel eyes. In the lamp-lit room, they were a smoky green. Mesmerizing.

"God, you're so beautiful," he whispered, unable to stop the compliment from spilling out.

"Castle, focus!" she commanded.

"Right. Why was I mad? Why was I mad? Oh, right. I was mad at you because you lied to me. You let me believe for months—almost a year!—you didn't remember anything from your shooting, that you didn't hear me tell you I love you. And it hurt. It hurt so, so much, Beckett."

She noted his use of her last name. Beckett, not Kate. That's a good thing, she told herself. He's purposefully trying to keep from being too sweet. The relief that he was willing to tell her the truth without smothering her in sentimentality helped her deal with the emotional fallout.

Now that he was talking, the words tumbled out. As he told her about arriving late to the precinct, of depositing the coffee and learning she was already in the Box with their suspect, he drew back into his own space on the sofa. He described his admiration of her tactics, her no-nonsense approach to the suspect. And then he told her what he had overheard.

She winced, but didn't deny it. My guess was right; it was that case. Damn it! I wish I'd told him the truth, right from the start. Don't go down that rabbit hole again, she cautioned herself. Nodding slowly more to herself than for his benefit, she broached a question. "Is that why you've been pulling away these last six weeks? Because you thought—"

"I thought, if you remembered and hadn't said anything, it was obvious you didn't feel the same way," he told her, his expression grim as the old hurt resurfaced. "So I acted—" he sighed then pressed on, "I acted out like a five-year-old. I put distance between us. I couldn't face the pain of hearing you tell me that these past four years hadn't meant anything to you."

She involuntarily put out a hand. "But Castle, they meant so much!"

He forced his voice to sound light. "I know that now, Kate, but I didn't know it then. You told me that day on the swing you needed time to take down your wall. You made it sound like you wanted it down so you could be in a relationship with me. But hearing what you said in the Box, I realized it was just wishful thinking on my part."

"No!" she cut in, "That's not true! It wasn't wishful thinking, Castle." She shot her fingers through her hair. "This is my fault. I've never been that person who communicates her feelings and emotions well. I'm not wired like you," she paused, searching his eyes, begging him to understand, "I've always been closed off like that, even before my mother died." She bit her lower lip, her eyes darting side to side before she admitted, "You have to understand, Rick, as a female detective, I have to present a certain image. I can't be soft, emotional, or vulnerable. I have to be tough and strong, even more than Esposito or Ryan do. And while I love hanging out, chilling with my guys, I can't share locker room talk with them. You've been in the precinct; you know how fast rumors fly."

He frowned, following the logic of what she was saying.

"So I learned way back when I was a rookie to downplay my personal feelings, to get them sorted out and in control, before I shared. Do you know the only person who has ever pushed me to open up is Lanie? And the only reason—the only reason—I admitted how I felt to her is because she's like a bulldog with a bone! I know her; she'd make up something to tell Espo if I didn't tell her the truth."

"You told Lanie how you feel about me?" his voice was filled with surprise. "When was that?"

She looked down at her hands, mumbled, "The same night you brought that flight attendant to the crime scene. I was going to tell you then how I felt about you." Her eyes swept up to his face, her brow still creased with anxiety. "Lanie and I were having a girls' night thing, and I—I asked her for advice. I wanted to know if I should just tell you outright how I felt, or if I should put it off until . . . But then you roared up in your Ferrari with that blonde and Lanie told me to wait."

"Kate," he said her name softly, tenderly. "Look at me."

She shook her head. "So many missed opportunities, Castle. So many chances I let go. I just didn't understand what I had done wrong. I tried to talk to you about it, to tell you I was taking down that damned wall, but you— I was terrified I'd waited too long." Cautiously raising her eyes back to his face, she deliberately kept them veiled under a fringe of dark lashes. "Please, please tell me I didn't wait too long."

Reading the pain, the fear in her face, he did the only thing he could think of. Carefully gathering her into his arms so as not to touch the bruises, he pressed his lips hard on hers. Then, as one emotion after another tore through him, he drew her closer, his mouth trailing kisses from her eyes to her nose, to the pulse point at her throat, back to her mouth. Deepening the kiss, he was thrilled as she responded with a soft, urgent little sound that was just about the most erotic thing he had ever heard in his entire life. Her arms wound around his neck as she finally turned her face away.

"I love you," he told her quietly, sincerely. "And I was a damned fool. I told you I was a royal jackass. I brought that woman around to punish you because I was being petty. And I wouldn't talk with you because I was afraid you were going to shoot me down once and for all. I couldn't handle the rejection. But I never stopped loving you." He kissed her again before she could respond.

This time she returned his kiss with a passionate fervor all her own. Then abruptly he released her and sat back. "Castle?"

He forced the lump which had formed in his throat back down. "Sorry," he apologized, "I didn't mean to get so carried away. I—you're stiff and sore and—I need to be more in control. Honestly, Kate, I'm trying really hard not to scoop you up, carry you back to bed, and ravage your body as we speak."

He stood to his feet and, moving to the free space between the sofa and the television, began to pace. "Here we are, in the midst of a very important conversation, and all I can think about is taking away your apprehension and doubts."

Overwhelmed by his honesty and tenderness, she felt herself at a total loss. Running her right hand through her hair, she took a deep breath then blew it out slowly. He stopped moving to study her more intently.

"Have I scared you off?"

Her startled eyes flew to his anxious ones. "No! No, of course not! And I—" she broke off suddenly before adding lamely, "Thank you."

"Thank you?" he parroted, confusion clearly imprinted in his tone. "Thank you for what?"

"For being sweet."

He gave her his signature Castle grin. "So I'm allowed to be sweet again? What a relief! Do you know how hard it is being mean to you, especially on purpose?"

A laugh, from somewhere deep within her, erupted. "Yeah, right! That from the man who spent the last four years dreaming up new and inventive ways to torment me? Come on, Castle!"

"I wasn't being deliberately cruel," he retorted, "I was flirting!"

She snorted. "If you tell me every hell you've put me through for the last four years has been nothing but foreplay, I swear, I will leave this loft, go straight back to my apartment, grab my personal glock, hunt you down and put three rounds in your chest."

He pretended to pout but his eyes and voice gave him away. "There is something so incredibly hot and sexy about you when you threaten physical violence, Beckett. For the record, I still would love a demonstration on all the ways you know how to use handcuffs."

She rolled her eyes. "Sorry to disappoint you, Castle, but I had to turn those in along with my badge and gun."

His eyes twinkled as he teased, "Not a problem. As it turns out, I have a set."

"Why am I not surprised?"

Pretending to be offended, he huffed, "What is that supposed to mean? I'll have you know that purchase was made in the name of research. I think I even managed to write the damned thing off! Huh, I'll have to check with Steve on that. I might not have, although I'm sure I saved the receipt . . ." he stopped chattering as he caught sight of her expression. "Not the point."

"Also not happening," she quipped and had the satisfaction of seeing his face fall. Then deciding to throw him a bone, she lowered her voice to a throaty whisper and said suggestively, "We have to save something for the honeymoon, don't we?"

He felt a warm flush start at the roots of his hair and spread to the tips of his toes. Kate wouldn't make that kind of comment unless she meant it, he told himself, strangely more excited by her use of the word 'honeymoon' than the idea of being handcuffed and at her mercy. Does that mean she's thinking about this relationship in terms of forever? He shot her a quick look and amended his word choice. Not forever—for always.

"Kate," he began, and for all the lightness in his tone, he was being very serious. "We have to talk about where we're going and about what happens next."

"I know," she said softly, her eyes never leaving his face.

"So . . ." he came to sit beside her again, but made no move to touch her. He just didn't trust himself to remain in control if they made any sort of bodily contact. "You first."

"I said it all at your door," she told him, and any doubts or insecurities she may have had earlier in the night were gone. On this one point she was certain. "I want you. I want to be a part of your life, Rick. I want to share my life with you, every step of the way."

"I want that too," he told her fervently, balling his hands into fists to keep from pulling her back into his arms again. The need to hold her close was quickly becoming an ache in his chest. Sighing, he confessed, "I don't want to mess this up, Kate. And I know if something happens here, between us, it will inevitably be my fault."

She frowned, not liking that comment at all. "What makes you say that?"

"Experience."

"That's ridiculous! Castle, you can't automatically take the fall for something that a) hasn't happened, and b) will probably be my fault. I don't want to go into this relationship expecting it to fail. If that's your outlook, I need to know that right now."

His eyes were filled with apology. Looking into them, she was struck by just how much worry and fear she saw in their depths. A momentary silence fell between them as they each became lost in their thoughts.

Why does he allow himself to go there, she wondered, her heart smarting. Is it because of his two failed marriages? He shouldn't blame himself; it takes two to make a marriage last. Meredith cheated on him. With Alexis in the picture, he did the right, mature, responsible thing and removed his daughter from that influence. I don't know why the marriage with Gina failed. He's never specifically said and I didn't want to ask. But neither of them wanted to put in the work to repair what was broken. That doesn't mean if something happens between us, he'll walk away.

Castle's thoughts were also on his previous marriages. Although he never once regretted raising Alexis as a single father and would gladly do it again, he knew his marriage to Meredith had been a mistake. They had both been so young, so self-focused. As his star had started to rise and Meredith had struggled to land parts, they had drifted away from each other. He had underestimated her drive for success and what she was willing to do to accomplish it and she had underestimated his character and what he was willing to forgive.

It was different with Gina, he reminded himself. We always blew hot and cold! I truly made a lot of mistakes in that relationship. In addition to cutting her out of a relationship with Alexis, I deluded myself into believing Gina was something she wasn't. That wasn't fair to her or me. And although she isn't without her faults, I still hold myself responsible for that disaster of a marriage. His troubled eyes studied the beautiful face across from him. But it doesn't follow I'll make the same mistakes with Kate. I love her so damned much!

The first to break the silence, he stated, "I'm going to take a chance and lay all my cards on the table, Beckett." She looked at him with a question in the recesses of her hazel eyes, but she didn't interrupt. "I want you here, with me. I want the right to comfort you, the right to protect you, the right to see you be vulnerable. I want the right to scold you, to praise you, to hold you. I want you to tease me, to tempt me, to threaten me. I want you to know every last one of my flaws and still love me. I want to grow old with you. I want to give you my name."

They looked at each other, his words filling the space between them. She was finding it hard to breathe. Her heart, racing at the speed of sound, was threatening to burst out of her chest. He wants to marry me, she thought in awe, struck yet again by the depth of his love for her. He lifted his left hand to her face and caressed her cheek. Two tears spilled out and ran down her face. Catching them with his hand, he gently brushed them away.

"Now you know what I want out of this relationship, Kate," he said softly, his voice barely audible. "I love you. I don't care how long you need, how many more bricks we have to take out of your wall to get there. I don't want to rush you or make you feel pressured in any way."

She nodded, still finding it difficult to catch her breath. "I don't want to rush, either." Chuckling almost to herself, she informed him, "The truth is, Castle, I kinda want to be courted. I know it sounds cheesy and completely archaic, but there it is. Dad always said when he saw my mom for the first time he knew she was something special. He told me he took his time, purposely developed a friendship and built a trust with her first, before he ever asked her out on a date. He told me how much fun they had over the course of their courtship, how they teased and flirted all the while doing fun things." She drew in a quick breath then rushed on, "We already have the friendship and trust part down, Castle. Before we head off into the sunset, before we get to our happily-ever-after, I want the awkward dinner dates, the fun activities, the floral bouquets, the chocolates. I even want the adorably stupid stuffed animals like the red and black bee holding a heart that says 'Bee mine!' I want stories to tell our children which don't revolve around our banter at a crime scene."

He laughed at that. "Oh, I don't know, Beckett. Some of my one-liners were good enough to put in my books."

She rolled her eyes. "Please! 'My first cold case,'" she intoned, her voice purposefully mocking as she quoted his quip from one of their first cases together.

He grimaced. "I knew you thought that was too soon. Okay, so banter isn't really my strong suit. But you have to admit, our children are going to love hearing how we build theory together."

She laughed outright. "You're kidding, aren't you? Castle, your idea of building theory, no matter what the crime, is to assume someone from every case is connected to the CIA."

"And guess who was finally right," he said triumphantly. "Who has two thumbs and picked a winner? This guy!"

"So, when you mentioned my knowing all your flaws just now, I assume you were including your propensity for gloating?"

"Touché." His blue eyes sparkled in amusement, his mouth curving up at the corners. "Okay, I acquiesce. We'll go on real, bona fide dates. I'll buy you chocolates and teddy bears and flowers. And we'll create moments to share with our future chil—" He broke off as another thought occurred to him. "Say, Beckett? How many children do you want to have?"

She shook her head, teased, "Let's cross that bridge when we get there. As my mom would say, don't put the cart before the horse."

"Now who's being cliché?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "We have plenty of time to discuss that later. There are more important issues to discuss right now."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Such as?"

Smiling, she started counting them off, using her fingers for emphasis. "When do we tell everyone about our relationship? How do we handle the media attention that is sure to come? Which of us is going to tell Lanie . . . ?"

"You are," he inserted quickly. "You have to. If she hears it from anyone else, she'll do something rash, like attack you with some of those drugs she keeps in the freezer down in the morgue." He gave a mock shudder. "I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you, Honey."

"Castle, stop right there."

He looked at her in surprise. "What?"

"Honey doesn't work for me. It's too—syrupy. I don't like it."

But it fits her so well, his mind protested. "What do you want me to call you? Sugar?" Glaring at him, her mouth set in a straight line. She wasn't fooling around. "Sweet Pea?"

"You do and you die. Simple as that, Kitten." She had the satisfaction of seeing him cringe. "No food names."

"No animal names."

"Fine," she agreed, "So long as we understand each other."

"I would like to point out Alexis has never minded being called 'pumpkin,'" he asserted, his eyes clouding momentarily. "And every once and awhile I get away with calling Mother a tart."

"That's horrible!" she exclaimed, punching his arm. "That's terrible! Your own mother! You shouldn't call Martha that!"

He shrugged. "Sometimes the shoe fits, my dear detective."

"I like that one," she said softly, reaching for his hand. "I like my dear detective. It—it fits."

"Only you're not that anymore," he reminded her, his eyes troubled and anxious, afraid he'd pressed too hard on an open wound.

"You're wrong," she told him, and to his relief she didn't seem the least bit upset. "I'm no longer a cop. I will always be a detective."

He studied her for a long minute. At length he said, "You're right; it's part of who you are. You couldn't any more stop being a detective than I could stop being a writer. It's in your DNA." His eyes smiled down at her as his mouth curved up into a boyish smile. "As we have ample proof, even tonight."

She feigned innocence. Extracting her hand, she said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Let me refresh your memory. Under the guise of 'stretching your stiff muscles,'" he made air quotes, "you sneak into my office and proceed to—what was the word we finally settled on? Ah, yes!—spy on me. You rifled through my desk drawers, didn't you?"

"I did not!" she said indignantly. "And for the record, 'spying' is a terrible word to use. If I were spying on you, I'd be watching you. I'd be watching your activities, not searching your belongings."

"That's a 'stakeout,' actually," he said smugly then noticed her death glare and quickly rushed on. "Okay, so 'spying' isn't the best word, but you get my point. You still took the time to investigate me. And why? Because you're still a detective, and it's what you do."

"That wasn't why I did it," she admitted, her voice soft and low.

"What?"

Her cheeks flamed a delicate pink, but she tabled her embarrassment and finished her confession. "I didn't want to wake you up but I missed you. Looking over your space made me feel close to you." Then, as memory brought with it the image of her picture sitting on his desk, she narrowed her eyes and demanded, "Just where the hell did you get the picture of me anyway? I certainly didn't give it to you."

"What picture?" he asked innocently, stalling as long as he could while he tried to come up with a viable explanation. He sorted through and discarded at least six before her intense scrutiny demanded an answer. "Oh. That picture."

"Yes," she agreed, "That picture. Care to enlighten me?"

"I'll plead the Fifth," he said, holding up both hands to shield himself from her glare, "on the grounds I might incriminate myself."

"Dad," she said, looking smug, "I was right."

"You knew about that?" he asked, his eyes wide in disbelief. "I can't believe he would betray me like that!"

She grinned wickedly at him. "He didn't."

"Oh. Oh, I see what you just did there. You just made me confess to something by . . . You think you're pretty slick, don't you, Sugarplum?"

"Castle, food!" she growled, her voice a stern reminder she would not tolerate any edible term of endearment.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Uh-huh. Just for that, you now have the sole honor and privilege of telling Alexis about your intentions, my pet."

He squirmed in his seat. "You mean you aren't going to be there with me? You're going to throw me right to the wolf? Don't you love me at all?"

More than you know, she assured him silently, but aloud she said gently, "Come on, Baby, you make it sound like you're afraid of your own daughter." Then as another thought occurred to her, she added, "Unless you know something I don't. Alexis isn't going to be wild about this idea, is she?"

Scowling at herself, she bit her lower lip as once again a wave of uncertainty crashed on the rocky shoreline of her mind. Although she was tired of the tidal pools of insecurity and doubt taking form in her brain, the last thing in the world she wanted to do was force Castle into the untenable position of having to choose between the daughter he adored and the woman he loved.

Sensing some of what she was feeling, he frowned. "Of course she'll be pleased! Alexis loves and respects you, Kate. More importantly, she knows how I feel about you. She'll be supportive." Of course, it may take her a while to come around, he cautioned himself silently, but I'm confident she'll be cool with it. And if not, like Kate said, I'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I love Alexis, but I'm not willing to let Kate walk out of my life. Not ever again.

"Then that's settled," she said at last. "I'll tell Lanie; you'll break it to Alexis and Martha."

He screwed up his face in horror. "You never said anything about telling my mother."

She laughed. "She's going to get wise to the situation sooner or later, Castle. She does live under your roof, remember?"

"Thanks for reminding me," he said sourly. "And that's another thing I want out of this relationship: I want us to make a home together—without my mother."

"We will," she promised, "but not yet."

He brightened. "What about the boys? Are you going to leave it to Lanie?"

She rolled her eyes and snorted. "You can't be serious, Castle. I'm going to ask Lanie to keep it to herself for now. At least until we sort out some of the logistics."

"Ooh, I love it when you talk strategy," he teased, winking at her.

"Castle, focus!"

"Right. Sorry. You were saying?"

"Like I said earlier, if one person at the 12th knows something, everyone will know by the end of the day. So, I don't want Espo or Ryan to know until we're ready to go public."

He frowned. "You want to keep our relationship clandestine? But Beckett, you don't work there anymore. What does it matter if they—"

"No," she asserted, "But you're still free to shadow them. You don't really want Gates to have more fodder to use against you, do you?"

"You don't honestly think I'll go back if you're not there. Kate, I've been writing procedurals for a long time now. I think I know the way the NYPD operates. I don't need to follow Ryan and Esposito around. They aren't my muse. You are."

"Okay," she sighed, "then let me put it this way—we'll tell Lanie out of self-preservation and Alexis and Martha out of necessity. But we wait on everyone else. Agreed?"

"Any particular reason?"

Through her mind flashed the flyleaf of the Encyclopedia Brown book. "Uh-huh. Sometimes it's more fun to create a mystery than to solve one."

A curious light flared behind his brilliant blue eyes as he caught his breath. Tilting his head to the side, he considered her thoughtfully before he asked, "Do any reading before you went in my office, Doll?"

"Maybe," she hedged, her eyes dancing in mischief. "I've been known to read. I have a particular fascination with mysteries."

"Do you now? Any particular authors stick out to you?"

She leaned forward, giving him a seductive, sultry smile. "There's one particular author I'm crazy about." Deliberately running her left hand down his right arm, she widened her eyes invitingly. Then she bit her lower lip in that way that tempted him to lose all control and smother her with kisses.

"You-you're cr-crazy about one— Wait, who are we talking about? You are crazy about me, aren't you? Because I thought for a minute you'd read . . ." He trailed off as his eyes darted to his bookcase. "It's just that I have an autographed copy of a book over there, and the author wrote something similar, and—"

"Shh, Castle," she purred, wrapping her arms about his neck. "Now isn't the time for you to play amateur sleuth."

He encircled her in his arms and pulled her closer. "You're playing with fire, Kate."

Before he could guess her intention, she closed in further and kissed him. Long, deep lingering kisses on warm, eager lips. His arms tightened around her, pulled her to his chest. Then abruptly she pushed back from him. With her gaze never wavering from his face, a slow smile started in the back of her hazel green eyes before gradually transforming her face.

It was the single most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Unable to tear his eyes from her face, he memorized her expression, filing every detail away for later circumspection. Someday, he promised himself, I'm going to get a picture of her looking like that.

"You're staring, Castle. Again."

He laughed to hide the fact her smile, her expression, her kisses had robbed him of his voice. Shaking his head, he said, "Guilty. I'd better let you in on something right now, Kate. When you smile like that everything else in the world disappears. Just falls away. And I get lost. My thoughts, my words vanish."

"Then I'd better let you in on something, too," she said quietly, her voice like music, soft and sweet and melodic.

The lump he thought had dissolved was back in his throat. Willing it away, he swallowed hard. "What's that?"

Her mouth curved invitingly, teasingly. But she was serious when she said, "I love you."


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