A/N: This alternate take on a post-Watershed fic came out of my irritation at some of the so-called scoops and spoilers that have been appearing online. So, I wrote my frustration out. It won't happen this way and I wouldn't want it to. But it's a variant on the whole discussion, and the idea at the story's core - transparency (both with ourselves and others) - is one I think we could all probably do with working on. These characters certainly could.

"And we are water
We flow and flow
I feel you pouring through
Every inch of my soul and
I really must tell you this
Baby, before you go
We are water
We flow and flow"

-Patty Griffin, 'We Are Water'

Chapter 1: Transparency

Transparency.

The word hits her out of the blue as she sits alone in her living room, knees drawn up to her chest, his words still echoing around her brain as if they are on a loop. The diamond engagement ring winks up at her from the coffee table.

"Katherine Houghton Beckett will you marry me?"

Marry me? Marry ME?

They had been sitting on the swings when his speech – the deadly serious tone of it in fact - had made her feel suddenly as cold and unsteady as a seesaw on a wet, wind-swept day. The blood had rushed from her head, a chill ran up her spine, and her mouth had gone dry, tears threatening like storm clouds. The balance shift from his grave pronouncement - that he had been thinking about their relationship, about what they had…

She cuts off this thought, diverted.

What do they have? A whole lot more than she's ever had with anyone else, that's for sure. She's never put herself out there before – never asked any other man where their relationship was headed, content to just let things drift, run even if the ties threatened to bind too tightly. A spare toothbrush was one thing, a door key a practical solution. But the second they started talking vacation plans more than a few weeks in advance, family dinners or joint anything, she was off; out of there faster than snow off a roof in springtime.

Only not this time.

This time they had put in the hard yards in advance, tested their relationship to the limit – bad timing, lies and subtext, near death experiences, his ex-wives, her boyfriends, family, her mother's case and it's sucking decent into obsession – all the common and uncommon trigger points for relationship trouble they had navigated their way around. Until this - her career and the crossroads this amazing opportunity had created for her, and, by extension, for them.

Her job had brought them together in the first place – his too in a strange kind of way - their daily lives entwining around a shared passion for murder; perverse as that sounds. It would be too great a cruelty for this to be the one thing that drove a wedge between them. Castle saw to it this afternoon that it wouldn't – giving in so readily to her professional needs. And she hates herself just a little bit for that – that he's the one to have to save them yet again; to set his own needs aside in favor of hers.

"So whatever happens and whatever you decide…"

Now that she knows what he meant by these words – that his speech wasn't intended to signify the end for them, merely an elegant glide into a new, more committed future…

She sighs, reaching for the ring, holding it between thumb and forefinger to inspect it more closely, twisting it this way and that. She has yet to slip it on her finger to see how it would look or if it even fits. She's not that vain and it wouldn't be fair to him. At least she thinks it wouldn't be. Sometimes she doesn't know what to think lately.

If only she could read his mind and he hers, their life might be a whole lot simpler.

She told him "No", her head shaking, and then a swift "Well, not now. Not like this," in response to his shocked, crestfallen look. She really wants this – a life with him. But they are both bad at relationships – his two failed marriages the most costly, damaging testament to just how bad. Her series of drifts into work-related pairings that lasted little longer than their longest case proof of his assertion that she hid in meaningless flings with men she didn't love just to lose herself a little further from the main source of her pain. But that pain is less sharp now, weathered by time and understanding, less of a driving force, and she has to move on.

If they are going to commit, they need to learn to communicate better – to share their thoughts, needs, fears and feelings with one another. They need transparency, more than anything.

Castle had pressed the ring into her hand, whispered, "Take your time", and had risen from the grass to walk away; to give her space without the pressure of having to witness his disappointment a second longer.

They have love between them, that's for sure, and if she doubted his commitment to something more permanent, she has her answer now on that front too. If it were only about the love of the dance, he would have let her go, not fought for her even harder. She acted selfishly over the job offer, fell back on her old ways – trying to work things out in her own head first: going for the interview to find out more, to see if she would even get an offer before she mentioned any of it to Castle – part habit and part professional vanity. Lying on top of everything was hideous.

But if she wants this to work, with or without the job, she needs to make the bedrock of her life about the relationship she has with this man, she now sees – not a career. Jobs come and go. She could get fired, injured, invalided out, lose her edge or her heart for law enforcement, even blot her copy with I.A. – anything could happen. Eventually, as with all jobs, she will become too old and retire. But she knows deep down that she will never lose her love for Castle. Even if he had walked away from her today, that love would have remained with her; as sure and as irrefutable a part of her as her own shadow.

She needs him to understand her better than she understands herself, she realizes, with a jolt of self-awareness. As messy and scared and closed off as she is, he has to find a way in, and she has to be the one to give him the key – no more scratching and clawing. Just as she needs access to whatever is inside his head and his heart. They both need transparency.

She looks down at the ring again - suddenly migrated onto her pinkie finger when she wasn't looking – the diamonds themselves clarity personified. She slips it off, drops it into her palm, the arc of virgin platinum, shiny and elegant beneath the diamond setting, catching the lamplight. There's an inscription in the inner curve of the band she hadn't noticed before. Looking closer she sees just one word - their word – etched in a tiny, looping script.

It simply reads: Always

She paces in front of the loft entrance, the ring pressed tightly into the palm of her hand. When he opens the door, she stuffs it onto her pocket. He looks just as before – a little graver, perhaps, or maybe tired and sad, but he's still her Castle.

"Okay if I come in?" she asks, a hint of a nervous smile on her face.

She thinks he's about to say "Why", but thinks better of it. A strangled "Of course," comes out instead, and then he clears his throat, stepping back to let her pass.

"So, I did as you asked and I thought about what you said," she rattles out nervously, jumping straight in to a speech, as if she's an actor hitting her mark the second she reaches the middle of the living room floor; her lines immediately starting to flow. "And the thing is…"

"D—do you want a drink? Wine, coffee, tea or something, because…?" he interrupts, nervously.

Castle pauses then, stalling, and she looks up, reads his face – the fear in his eyes - and oh, he thinks…

"I want you to see through me," she blurts, watching as his brow knits together.

"Through you? Kate, I could never…" he says, shaking his head.

He could never see past her. That's been his entire problem since they met – she fills his field of vision so completely when she's there in front of him – she's a panorama, a beautiful vista, the kind of view people spend their entire life working towards paying for in retirement. And when she's not right in front of him, thoughts of her fill his head. She even pervades his dreams at night: wild, action filled fantasies full of color and, at times of stress, panic and fear.

No, transparent is the last thing Kate Beckett is.

"No. See inside of me. Inside my head. Know my heart. We're missing each other far too often, Castle. Still. After everything."

Castle sinks down onto the edge of the sofa and runs both hands through his hair, dropping his head forward to stare between his knees at the floor.

"So…what do we do? Do you have a plan? I hope you have plan. Because I already gave it my best shot."

She smooths her palms down her thighs, still standing in the middle of the room, his 'best shot' tucked safely inside her jeans pocket.

"The ring?"

He nods, glances up at her and then off towards the stairs, as if he expects his mother to interrupt at any moment; to float down the stairs in a cloud of lurid, fragrant, Pucci-printed chiffon with some clever, snarky putdown he really doesn't need to hear right now.

"How long have you had it?" she asks quietly, biting her lip.

It's the one question she doesn't know the answer to. In fact, there's probably a lot more than just that one, if she's honest. But it's the burning one – one that would show intention and forethought – rather like planning the commission of a crime, she thinks, ironically. He proposed out of the blue, out of judiciousness, she believed at first today - the most expensive relationship Band Aid in the history of relationship fixes. She has an image of him rushing off to the Diamond District the day before: running along West 47th peering in windows, his palms sweating, fingers streaking the glass, until he found 'the one'. All to keep her from leaving town alone for a job. From leaving him.

So, if she just knew…

"Two months," he replies quietly, wondering what difference it makes.

"I…I'm sorry? Did you say…?"

"Two months ago. That's when I bought the ring."

She wants to yell out and a flight of butterflies takeoff in her stomach. That is transparency, she thinks. Tell me these things and I can believe in us so easily.

"Two months ago," she grins. "So, before…"

"Before the job, yes," he tells her, still grim-faced.

"Oh," she smiles, pursing her lips until her stupid cheeks ache.

"Why? What…why does that make a difference? I—I don't see…"

"Because it just does, Castle."

"You seem…pleased," he observes, waving a hand listlessly in her direction.

"I guess I am," she says, feeling more than pleased but suddenly self-conscious that it should matter. "Maybe that's stupid."

"Why would it be stupid? You asked, I answered. You obviously got an answer you liked. That—" he sighs. "Kate, you've never been stupid in your life. Well, except maybe that one time when you dressed up in that Nebula 9 costume and tried to seduce me. That was stupid."

"Ha!" she laughs, thrown off guard by his quick wit at a time like this. "Yeah, that was stupid," she admits, grinning at the memory, the tips of her fingers pressed against her smile. "You wouldn't have sex with me that night."

"I couldn't have sex with you that night. And you're lucky it was just one night," he parries back, eyes connecting with hers and flashing – that immutable spark they have between them brighter than any diamond - their problems momentarily forgotten.

But then he falls silent again, looks down at his hands, stretching his fingers wide, like he's trying to fill the time, to prevent her from saying something they'll both regret.

"We've had some pretty good times," she muses, and the look on his face tells her this little trip down memory lane isn't helping.

"What are you saying? Why don't you just…tell me, Kate?"

"I…I'm saying just that. We've had some pretty good times. And I want us to have more of them, to make more memories. But I need you to be open with me. To be straight with me like you were just now."

"S—straight with you?" he splutters, bouncing to the edge of the sofa. "I don't want to point fingers here, Kate. But you are the one who lied. You said it yourself – you kept secrets. How am I supposed to 'look into your heart' if you won't let me see?"

"I know. I know," she says, holding her hands up in front of her to calm him. "But I just figured it out. Cut me some slack, Castle. I'm still learning how to do this."

"Figured what out?"

"Transparency."

"Transparency?"

"Yeah. That's…that's what we need to…to succeed."

He busts out a grin and she's not sure how to take it. He does look kind of crazy and maybe she sounds kind of crazy. They do mirror one another a lot – well, if you listen to the boys they do.

"Transparency," he repeats, like he's testing out the word, scrubbing a hand down over his stubbled jaw, nodding thoughtfully. "And…when you figured this out…"

"Mmm-hmm?" she hums, listening intently for his upcoming question.

"Were you…had you been drinking by any chance because…?"

"Shut up!" she laughs, picking up a throw pillow from a nearby armchair and tossing it at him.

"Sorry. Couldn't resist," he admits, dodging to one side and shielding his head, and he's blushing a little she's pleased to note, since she is too; her cheeks flaming actually – part embarrassment and part pleasure to be here with him, sparring like this when she thought all might be lost.

God she loves him.

"Self help book then?" he teases on, smirking. "Psychic prediction? Oh! I know - Fortune cookie!"

She smiles at him - long, slow and indulgent - shaking her head as she would at a child, her hands on her hips.

"If I'm going to stay here a second longer to be taunted by you, you'd better pour me that drink," she tells him, picking the small pillow up off the floor and walking it over to the sofa.

She sinks down in one corner against the deep, leather cushions, hugging the pillow to her chest.

He looks at her side-on, pauses, silent, like he doesn't know what to do next.

"Castle. Kitchen's that way," she says, playfully, kicking off her shoes and then nudging his knee with her bare foot.

"Right. Right," he repeats, standing, turning to give her a thoughtful stare and a quick flash of a smile before he walks away.

He goes over to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of wine, then lifts two glasses down from the shelf, glancing back across the living room at Kate, his heart easing to see her making herself comfortable in what he hopes will soon be 'their' home. She grabs a magazine off the coffee table, settles into the corner of the sofa, one knee bent, her other leg tucked under her, and she begins to flip through the pages, blindly. He sees her sneaking little peeks at him when she thinks he isn't watching, but he lets it slide.

She may not have given him the answer he hopes for yet, but the way she keeps checking her pocket tells him she probably has the ring with her, and since she didn't throw it back at him the second she walked through the door, he thinks that's probably a really good sign.

If she wants transparency, he can work on that. It's not like he has anything to hide…

The corkscrew is in the silverware drawer. As he reaches for it, his eyes alight on the hand-written receipt for Kate's engagement ring, sitting atop a pile of outgoing mail right by the fruit bowl. The ink looks fresh, the paper crisp and smooth, and there's a good reason why it's still sitting out on the counter, as yet unfiled. He has to add the valuable piece of jewelry to his insurance, so his broker asked him to make a copy of the original receipt and then mail it to her. He glances guiltily at the date – yesterday's - written in the sales assistant's spiraling, feminine handwriting.

He looks down at the two wine glasses sitting shoulder-to-shoulder in front of him on the counter; their crystal-clear bowls finely balanced on graceful stems - so delicate, so precarious…so transparent.

He swipes the jeweler's receipt off the counter and slides it into the drawer, concealing it beneath a thick pile of take-out menus, before slamming the drawer closed and turning away to open the wine.

Transparent, adj: Colorless. Capable of transmitting light so that objects or images can be seen as if there was no intervening material. Easy to see through, understand or recognise; obvious. Free from guile; candid or open. Shining through, luminous. Sheer, diaphanous.

A/N: Love to hear your thoughts, as always, while we're all still killing time. Hope you're having a great weekend. Liv