Bluish-white light from the stage reflects back at her from Castle's eyes as he stands beside her, entranced by the flickering images on the wall-sized screen. The walk up from the dressing room has left him without his usual effervescence - not even a snicker as they passed the busty blond reality TV star in her leopard print pleather cat suit.

Kate never watches the footage they play to tell the backstory of the week leading up to every performance. Rehearsal is just that: practice. The audience is here to see them perform. The only purpose the snippets serve is to stir up drama.

So-and-so strained a muscle two days before the show; will she be able to perform? Melodramatic mountains out of molehills.

Of course this first one is Castle's introduction, so they spend time talking about him and his life. She sneaks a glance at the screen and sees a shot of him on a red carpet. He must have attended a premiere of something since arriving in L. A., because he is smiling for the cameras with a redhead on his arm she has not yet met. Must be Meredith.

Tom Bergeron's voice dips as he begins to wrap up his narration, saying something inane about spinning tales and tails spinning, and she leans in to try to catch Castle's eye.

"Hey."

Gary, the stage manager, fingers the mouthpiece on his headset and tips his head toward them, but her partner is still frozen in his spot.

"Almost time, Castle."

Still no reaction except for the bunch of one muscle at the hinge of his jaw. He is a statue, stare gone completely blank. That weight is back in her gut, this time shooting out icy-cold tendrils of panic.

What if he won't go on?

The lights dim for their entrance as Tom gives his final introduction.

"Will this mystery novelist be able to write a happy ending for his first chapter in the book of ballroom?"

She grips Castle's hand where it hangs limp and cold at his side, gets no response. Stepping into his chest, she stands on tiptoe, stretching to her full height, until her lips are nearly pressed to his ear.

"Snap out of it, Rick. I need my partner."

He shivers against her.

One hard blink and his ribcage expands into her chest, his fingers clamping strong and sure around her hand. By the time his eyes find hers, the first strains of Sinatra are wafting out from the band.

His voice rises up, warm and mellow.

"Hey, they're playing our song."

Whatever fear had him locked down melts before her eyes, a smirk growing from one corner of his mouth until the smile overtakes his whole face. By some miracle, her Rick Castle stands before her again.

Then he is stepping back, leading her out onto the stage just as they have rehearsed, all charm and charisma and polished flair.

The lights come up as he spins her out, frame locked, hand placed exactly right.

The smile that splits her face is not for the cameras.

A series of fancy footwork comes next, something they spent days tripping over but have practiced until she swears they could do it in their sleep.

Not a wobble. Not a hitch. Just a broad chest and rock-steady arms that are actually leading her. He still struggles with taking charge, and she knows it is mostly her fault for needing to be in control when dancing with an amateur, but he is improving, and so far, from the sound of the cheers from the crowd, they are both selling his lead.

The lead singer is waxing poetic about spring on Jupiter and Mars when Castle pulls her in for their series of twinkles, progressing across the stage with hands meeting and catching every third step. His eyes are only for her every time they face in, that blue sparking off the sapphire of her dress and the azure glow from the stage lights, set to give them a moon and stars backdrop.

As always, the audience is a blur, out beyond the edges of her vision, but as she spots a series of quick turns, her line of sight lands on the judges' table, and she cannot help but notice all three are practically beaming. As much as Len could ever beam, anyway.

Reaching back as the lyrics ask to hold her hand, Rick's hand is there, steadying her balance for the swirling fan kick that shows off her extension and the gossamer flourish of her gown. They separate and she blows him an exaggerated kiss to match the words, and he catches it and winks back mirth overflowing.

A quick grapevine has them locked together again, and she hopes he remembers the right angle for his upper body, because the exaggerated pose is the one thing about the foxtrot that did not come naturally to him, and if she is executing her part, she cannot assess his. The judges or the footage will catch it, so she lets it go and focuses on her foot placement for the next pass in front of the judges.

They are in the home stretch, a few bars from their dip at the finish, when she catches the gleam in Castle's eye. Stepping in for the one basic, simple lift that she finally added to the routine over the weekend, once she had convinced herself there was no possible way he could drop her from it, he raises both eyebrows at her meaningfully.

The shoulder glide is smooth, just as they rehearsed, but as he takes her weight across his hip, he whispers in her ear.

"Do the death drop."

As he sets her gently on the floor, she hisses through her smile.

"No."

It had been late on Saturday night, and he had been pestering her all day to show him "the death drop" version of their ending dip. He had seen it on some ballroom dance movie, apparently, and then tried to flatter her into teaching him by telling her she should be on the big screen, how she would be the next Ginger Rogers, bring back the golden age of dance on film. More to make him shut up with his whining than because she was actually flattered, she had finally acquiesced. They had already perfected the more subtle variation of the ending; what was the harm in letting him toss her around a bit in rehearsal with the springy floor and the extra mats spread out over it? He had practically vibrated with glee.

The move is not complex, as long as both dancers know exactly what to do and have perfect timing. Rather than a standard dip, which leaves most of her weight supported by her own legs and core, the drop requires her to trust in Castle to keep her body from landing flat on the floor. Holding only her hands, he must let her fall straight back, every muscle taut, body flat as a plank except for one knee, which she bends to allow the ball of that foot to balance her weight. When done right, meaning fast and sharp, it makes for a seemingly death-defying ending.

Twelve tries later, and to her astonishment, they had it down cold, and not one time had her body even touched the mat. But still she had refused to put it in the routine. Adrenaline and nerves and all sorts of costume malfunctions could sabotage the move in the actual performance. It was her call; the simple dip went into the final version. It was what they had rehearsed since Saturday.

Distracted by her lapse into memory, Kate's toe nearly catches on their underarm turn, yet after he steadies her, he tries again to sway her as she comes in close.

"Come on, we can do it."

Kate hopes the daggers shooting from her eyes look like sparks of romance to the cameras rather than barely contained rage.

"I said no."

Ice shoots through her veins when he simply narrows his eyes and flicks one brow in challenge.

The real danger is if they are not in sync. If she goes in doing one move and he tries to force the other, she could pull him down on top of her and they will both end up on the floor. Or worse, he could lose his grip and drop her flat on her back, head first into the shiny wood floor.

Damn him.

"In other words, please be true…"

Two steps turn her into his chest, arms wrapped around herself, and he sets her up for the death drop. Either she goes along and prays he remembers every nuance from three days earlier, or she breaks his hold entirely and ad-libs something that will not get them killed, but might get them kicked off in round one. Again.

"In other words-"

Damn him.

The shuts her eyes, takes a breath, and lets go.

"I love you."

When the last trilling notes of their song sound through the speakers, she opens her eyes to find herself alive, and not on the floor. The glare of the lights directly above them blinds her to anything other than the silhouette of her partner's broad shoulders looming over her, but as he lifts her, she takes in his smile, and the rows of audience members all on their feet applauding.

Castle spins her out to curtsey and takes his own nodding bow, and as he passes her across to the opposite side to repeat the gesture she growls through her pasted-on smile.

"I'm going to kill you."

Wasting no time checking for a reaction, she leads him back to their hosts and the judges, hoping that none of the professionals has noticed their knockdown, drag-out fight.

The expression on Rick's face as he faces the panel of three deflates a bit, though not to the stone-faced panic of backstage. Bergeron babbles on about something that Castle fields stiffly, but she tunes in as Bruno erupts with an exaggerated fling of both arms into the air.

"Mister Castle! I can see why you sell so many copies of your mystery novels. You have thrown the biggest plot twist of all into this competition! The Master of the Macabre may yet be our Master of the Mirrorball!"

Castle blushes scarlet and allows a hint of his earlier smile to creep across his lips, head dipping.

The fact that Bruno is right makes Rick's sudden shyness all the more adorable.

But he is not adorable. On that dance floor just now he was stupid and unprofessional and cocky and-

"Brilliant."

Wait, what, now? Len Goodman is-

"I hate to admit it, after watching that film I was sure you were a pretty boy, out here to prance on red carpets for the paparazzi, but I was wrong. Your posture could use a little work and the arms have some room for improvement, but overall, Mr. Castle, I am pleasantly surprised."

Carrie Ann pipes up to round out the comments with a smirk and a twinkle.

"Does it feel hot in here to anyone else?" The crowd gives a round of cheers and Jim Beckett's signature whistle draws her attention. Her parents are on their feet, applauding immediately behind the row of three redheads. "Sparks were flying out there, you two. And Rick, don't listen to Len; I thought your arms were more than fine."

A sideways glance reveals her partner winking - actually winking - at the perky female judge.

They are shuffled off and quizzed by the bubbly co-host, cameras running until the judges are ready to show their scores. Because of their spot last in the line-up, Kate has no idea about anyone else's scores. She has been too focused on her partner's stage fright and keeping them both from ending up on the floor to watch any of the other couples. At this point she will be thrilled with anything but last place, and even that would be better than last time, considering that tonight, at least her tailbone is intact.

"Carrie Ann Inaba."

"9!"

Wow, the woman is seriously flirting.

"Len Goodman."

"8."

Kate's heart takes a somersault, landing somewhere down near her stomach, because an 8 from Len in the first round?

"Bruno Tonioli."

"9!"

Her eyebrows hit her hairline and suddenly she is in the air. Castle lets out a whoop as he spins her in a circle, forcing her to cling to the bulge of his biceps for dear life.

Even her fury cannot stand up to the infectious joy rolling off her partner's face, and her anger cracks open into a grin as he sets her on her feet.

Oh God, she might actually cry.

Samantha Harris breaks in as Kate blinks hard to keep the moisture at bay.

"That's a total of 26, which puts you in a tie for first place-" A wave over the co-hosts shoulder pulls her focus, and a alarm bell sounds in her subconscious when her eyes land on leopard print pleather and the smiling face of her ex-boyfriend "-with Brandi and Malik!"

Of course.

# * # * # * #

Author's Note: First of all, you are all amazing. Thank you for the kind words. Alex, you are, as always, my rockstar beta and best ballroom cheerleader. I couldn't do it without you. Next I need to thank two specific readers for their technical input: one-village-idiot and CoffeeCup218 have been coaching me through the worlds of ballroom and Dancing with the Stars, and though they should receive NO blame for my mistakes, they get all the credit for anything I get right in those two realms. Thanks again!

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