"One school swears by a secret passage branching from one of the tunnels and leading, in the words of the poet, to nature's sanctuaries. The other dreams of a trapdoor hidden in the hub of the ceiling, giving access to a flue at the end of which the sun and other stars would still be shining."

"Do you want to know something?"

He turns his head to look at her. They've been sitting next to each other on the couch, not touching, for at least an hour. Before she called her dad, she'd clung to him. If her body wasn't pressed against his, her hands were holding his, dancing over his back and his arms and his face. Afterward, Castle gave her some space, and she never crossed the boundary again. She hung up a while ago, but she didn't say anything and he didn't want to push, so they just sat.

The room has grown considerably darker since the last time he looked at her, but he can still see the outline of her face. She's staring straight ahead, at nothing in particular, her lips parted slightly. Her shoulders lift and fall unhurriedly as she inhales and exhales. He wants to touch her again.

"Yes," he says instead.

"Do you remember the first day we started working together? When you asked me why I decided to be a cop?"

He nods. "Yeah."

She's silent for a moment, breathing. She doesn't look at him. "I tell people it was because of my mother. I said I wanted to catch guys like the ones that killed her. The ones that—" she closes her mouth abruptly and swallows. "You know."

He knows. And it breaks him in half.

"It's not a complete lie," she continues. "I did. I do. But back then, there was something else. If I'd just wanted to put the bad guys away, I could've stayed on the path I was on. Become a DA, be the face of justice in a courtroom."

She bites her lip around what looks like half a smile. He frowns, confused, until he looks at her closer. That's not a smile. It's too rueful, almost bitter, and she stops his analysis with her next words.

"At least that way I wouldn't have heard over and over again how she wouldn't want me to do this." She sighs heavily. "She would've been proud if I'd been a lawyer like her."

"Kate," Rick starts, moving toward her.

She puts a hand up to stop him. "I know, Castle. I know."

He stops, tensed in his half-completed attempt to be closer to her. Their gazes hold, and he tries to decide what to do, realizes that she isn't done with her story and the too-bright gleam in her eyes is telling him she needs to finish.

He settles back onto the couch. "So why become a cop?"

She looks at the floor immediately, chews her lip, and the silence grows more and more oppressive. Dread gnaws at him, clawing to get free. He swallows it. Won't let it out. Not now. Not with her.

"It was the risk," she finally murmurs. "The danger. The idea that I could die at any second. It's why I was thrilled when I got promoted to Vice before I came to Homicide. A female Vice detective…it's dangerous. I got used as bait a lot. And I was glad. I liked staring mortality in the face."

The rip in his heart tears a little farther when he realizes what she's saying. He takes a deep, steadying breath, forces the words out. "You wanted to die?"

She finally looks at him. Her eyes are gleaming in the dusk, wet from the tears she refuses to let fall, and he feels such a flurry of emotion that it staggers him. Half of him is bellowing with rage, ready to rip to shreds the next person that even looks at her the wrong way, but the other half of him…God, he's never been so sad. So heartbroken. He wants to fix it all, make it all go away, give her back the life that was stolen from her.

But he can't.

"Maybe," she whispers.

This time he can't stop himself. Something propels him across the couch toward her, something that he knows is love but feels an awful lot like terror. A sob rests deep in his throat, threatening but still for now.

She's ready for him, doesn't fight him when he wraps his arms around her in a bear hug and pulls her into his lap. She settles her face into his neck, her fingers dipping beneath his collar to hang on to his shirt, the backs of her nails pressed against his collarbone.

He holds her tighter, buries his nose into her hair, revels in the feel of her breath on his skin.

"I don't want to now," she murmurs. "I don't."

"Kate," he says, but it comes out on top of a sob, and he feels ridiculous because he's crying but he doesn't care.

"I don't," she insists, pressing her face into his neck. "I don't want to die."

"You won't."

She puffs out a breath, hot on his neck, and he wonders if she's crying too. "There are other ways to die."

He didn't realize he was rocking her slowly back and forth, not until her words bring him to a complete stop. He swallows, feels the terrible dread for the second time since he sat next to her on this couch.

"Like what?" he asks, proud of how steady his voice is.

She smoothes her fingers over his collar, moves them down to rest over his heart. "Losing someone."

"Someone's not going anywhere," he answers. "Someone doesn't say always if they don't mean always."

"Someone is abusing the third person."

He laughs, caught off guard. He can't see her face, but he knows she's smiling. He presses his lips to the crown of her head. "Someone isn't used to loving someone smarter than him."

It's her turn to go still. He waits, not the least bit sorry. She traces a pattern on his shirt, still over his heart, with her index finger. He watches her finger move, thinks about what a mess of a pattern it is. No straight lines, just jagged edges, sharp curves, twists and turns that are seemingly endless. He'll follow her through that pattern. He already is.

"It's not just losing someone," she says. "You can lose yourself."

He waits. She doesn't say anything. Her finger stops moving. "Kate?" he prompts.

"What if I'm lost?"

He swallows around the lump in his throat. "Then we'll find you."

She pulls away, looks at him with a mixture of fear and hope in her eyes that completely bowls him over. "Castle?" she breathes.

He runs his thumb over her bottom lip. Can't help it. "Beckett?" he says.

"You'll help me find me?"

He smiles. "Haven't I always?"

She shifts in his lap, looks suddenly nervous. It's kind of adorable. He waits, though. She rewards him for it, though he's not sure if it's for waiting now or waiting all year.

She presses her lips against his, her hands on either side of his face. It's chaste, and soft, and unbearably sweet. Only lasts two seconds, maybe three. When she pulls away, she rests her forehead against his.

"I love you, too," she whispers.

A thump of agony hits him in the stomach. What if she doesn't mean it? What if today has made her think she does? Or what if she really does mean it, and today has just given her the courage? Either way, he can't breathe.

"It's been a hell of a day for you," he finally manages to say. He has to give her an out. He has to know she means this. Has to know that she's in this because if she's not and she's just looking for something to cling to, it will break him.

"Yeah," she agrees, still holding his face, still with her forehead resting against his. "Kind of like when I was dying and you told me for the first time."

He should add calling him on his shit to the list of things his Kate is good at. "Touché," he murmurs.

She sighs, rubs his earlobe with the pad of her thumb. "Castle."

"Beckett."

"Say it again?"

He does.