Kate slips out of the loft shortly after dawn, leaving Castle a note that she'll be back soon. She really needs a run, and not the quick kind to do its job working off the extra calories of a slice of cheesecake last night for dessert. The kind that pushes her to the physical limits and makes her feel both alive and spent.

She intends to start slow, give her muscles a chance to warm up, but there's a need inside to break out and she sprints. First to the green trash bin ahead on the left side of the path, then further still around the bend, past the teenager on a bike, and she's gasping for air. It's too much too soon and she knows that she'll pay later but it's almost like sex with Castle, she can't seem to pace herself. She can't do less than totally consumed.

It's desperate and destructive. But any sign of this desperation is kept closely hidden in an internal world of her absolute rule, and maybe that's the appeal. Maybe she hasn't changed as much as she thought that she did these last five or six days.

It's all of these things that she'll blame later when, in quiet moments, she contemplates how it went wrong. Exactly what order, when, how? She'll pick it apart. But she's slow to react, that's all that matters, and he gets the drop on her.

The attacker grabs her in a chokehold from behind, mid-stride, like she ran into a wall throat first. Kate's already oxygen-starved lungs and muscles cry out, demanding she fix this. But her assailant yanks her against his own body, easily six inches taller and another 150 pounds or more heavier than her own.

She doesn't have to see it to know what that cool, hard object is. The one that is pressed against her ribs for a moment, right where the tank top she's wearing rises a little above the waistline of her yoga pants.

He yanks the iPhone from where it's strapped to her arm and her earphones fly in the air after the movement like ribbons of history. The guy pockets it, and then points the cold steel into her side again, this time harder. At that angle she'd maybe bleed out slowly enough for someone to come to her aid, but he's just made sure that she'll have no phone to call for help. No matter, she calculates that the first shot is only to disable her before he puts a second and third bullet into her chest or head.

She gasps for a breath, twisting to fight him but she's got no leverage. Her quads, shins, and other muscles burn and knot up from her too-hard run, and it's the worst case scenario.

This is it, she thinks.

Her bluff didn't work and Bracken sent another hired gun to kill her. One in a long line, over and over, until her luck runs out. That sick feeling returns, the one that knew she'd never be safe. There were no edges of the world where sanctuary could be found, no matter the cost or energy, and Castle shouldn't have this ending on his conscience. If she could go back, she'd never have given him hope.

"Cash?" the guy demands with another jab of the weapon.

What? She's jarred from the depths of her preparation to die, and only then notices the shake to the guys' hand. He's strong but uncoordinated. Is he really just a junkie? Junkies are typically skinny, this one could be new and a little too adventurous so he's after his score in the daylight.

"Left pocket," she says, angling for a chance to swing around on him. But before she can switch gears from morbid thoughts to action, he's gone with the contents of her pocket that include a $20 bill and a credit card. Plus her phone he already had.

It's nothing. It's a win, she tries to tell herself.

She walks over the small rise in the grass and sits down; her shaking limbs need a moment. Leave it to New York for not a single person to notice or care. She could shriek Bloody Mary right now and they'd not even turn a head. It used to be something that gave her pride.

Kate lays back in the grass, letting the tears flow down her cheeks.

Rivers. If Castle were here, that's what he'd call them. But he'd use some fancy, descriptive prose to make it sound much more romantic, and that the heroine in the end overcomes.

She shudders, weeping along with the memory of coldness. The cold steel of guns, cold of dirt tossed on a grave, cold freezer where they almost met the end in each others' arms, and cold links between her fingers that held up a swing. Rain washing over her head, absolving her of sin.

She finally stills as the catharsis ends. Above, the sun warms her cheeks and dries the tear tracks. Kate takes a tattered breath. Enough of this.

She stands and walks out of the park where she spots a couple of traffic cops stopped at a hot dog stand. She gives them her badge number and asks if they could do her a favor and radio into a Detective Ryan at her Precinct. They offer to do one better and give her a lift.


It was only a single credit card, some cash, and her phone. She stops on Robbery's floor inside the Precinct to fill out the paperwork anyway, and she's nearly finished when Demming steps over.

"Something to do with a case?" he nods toward the papers and pen in her hand.

"No, I was mugged."

"You OK?" His tone changes to one full of concern. It triggers something inside, a bit of memory perhaps from a couple of years ago.

"I'm fine, Tom." Kate says, trying to put on a convincing smile. She's not, but he is no longer the one who gets to know that. "I thought I'd file a report on the one-in-a-million chance that I'm the lucky gal whose stuff actually turns up someday."

"You never know." He returns the smile. "Despite rumors, we're pretty good at our jobs down here."

The conversation sputters out and a long awkward silence looms. Demming clears his throat. "I'm seeing someone," he says.

"That's great."

He nods, puts his hands in his pocket. "You?"

"No, not at the moment."

"Really? Funny, I always thought that you… Castle."

"Me and Castle?" Did she say that a little too high-pitched? And did the laugh seem a little too forced? "That is funny."

"No, I mean, he's here."


Ryan had called about forty minutes ago as Castle was getting out of the shower and explained what had happened. Beckett was fine, she was in the Precinct now, and Ryan was happy to drive her home except that he just caught a break in a case he's working and he has to head out to the Bronx. Could Castle come get her?

What Castle did not expect to find is Beckett sitting at a desk in Robbery and her former boyfriend leaning in talking to her. He'd caught a few lines of their conversation before either of them noticed that Castle was making his way toward them. When Beckett turns, there's no trace of guilt on her face. Not that he expected it, and not that he expected there to be a reason for it, but it's still reassuring.

"All finished," she says to Demming, and a flash of a smile appears for his benefit.

Nope, Castle is not going to get jealous over this. Really.

They make their way out of the building and onto the sidewalk. Castle hails a cab and they slide in together.

"I just didn't want him to know, OK?" she finally says.

"I didn't ask." He feels the need to point that out. Then wonders, "Embarrassed about us?"

"No."

OK, he didn't think so. But she's still not looking at him and instead is watching the buildings pass by outside the side window of the taxi.


Kate's soaking in her bathtub while Castle is downstairs, theoretically figuring out what they might order for dinner. It's been a long day, and she almost suggested that they skip spending the night in each other's company. Then she decided not to go that far, and instead to take an hour to herself to soak and to think. Castle didn't say a word.

He's been off kilter. Or maybe it's been both of them collectively that's been off all day? Ever since he picked her up at the Precinct, it's been weird. She wishes she could blame it all on Castle seeing her with Demming, but that's likely only a tiny part of it. It's that Kate denied being in a relationship, and Castle is taking that to heart.

She's been struggling to come up with a way to explain it to Castle. It's not that she's embarrassed or afraid of what people will think. It's simply that if anyone finds out, then they can't be partners. Why is she having such a hard time saying it out loud? The sex has been great, but the opening up and talking about things has been lagging behind, and maybe that's what this evening should be about. It's why she changed her mind in the end and didn't send him away.

It's also why she's doing this with him now, not a year ago, because after putting in the work, she's better equipped to hopefully do this right.

Kate gets out of the tub and pulls the plug, watches the water funnel down the drain as she dries herself off. If this were any other man, she'd carefully consider her wardrobe options, even for a night in. If in no other way, this thing with Castle is different because she opts for a comfortable pair of jeans and an old, faded, football t-shirt. She knows he won't care either.

She can easily imagine her life going forward, in a way that she could never do with other men before. Coming home to him and changing into something comfortable like this. She descends the stairs and Castle is flipping the channels on her TV. He's got a beer open in front of him on the coffee table. She can imagine it, she's working on trying to believe in it.

"Hey, can we talk?" She sits down next to him. Only then does she see the array of takeout menus that he's selected and set out on the table as well.

"Sure." He mutes the TV.

"I just," she takes a breath. They're doing this, she reminds herself, he's not a man she's sleeping with while keeping at arm's length. "The NYPD has a policy that partners can't be romantically involved."

Kate's clearly thrown him. He must have thought the follow up to the Demming incident was going to spur a totally different kind of conversation. "I'm not sure that I follow what you're saying, Beckett?"

"Either we stop doing what we're doing," she's quick to point out, "and I don't think that's an option." She doesn't need him thinking that for a second. "Or we quit being partners, so that we can be together."

"OK," he says, still not getting it.

"Or," she shrugs a little. "Nobody but us knows. Including the boys and Lanie. I'm not sure it's going to be all that feasible, but it's the only option that I can think of."

"So it wasn't about Demming? And you keeping your options open?"

"No, Castle. My answer would've been the same no matter who in the Precinct asked the question."

"You like it, admit it," Castle says suddenly. "You like it, even now after this," he wags a hand back and forth between them, to indicate this new phase of their relationship. "You like having me as your partner."

"It's for your books. I know that you want to keep working with me for your research." OK, that's a lie. That's old Kate Beckett talking, and he knows it. He grins. Damn him.

"Kate." His hand cups the curve of her cheek. "How long ago do you think this stopped being about my books? For both of us?"

Oh, this man. This wonderful, sweet man who has wormed his way in with moments like this. When he makes her feel like a kid again reading fairytale stories by flashlight under her covers, and pain doesn't exist in that magical world.

She reaches over and takes his free hand. "OK. I'll admit that you're like a puppy that I've gotten used to following me around. So yes, I'd like to keep my partner." She can give in, but please, she's not going to go too far. Somebody has to keep Castle in check. "And you're occasionally useful."

"Wait, are you telling me that you're sexually attracted to dogs? Because that's so wrong, Kate."

"Shut up, Castle."

"Shutting up now." He leans in to kiss her, grinning like she's given him the moon.