When they finally get on the elevator together, it doesn't feel real. Kate stands with her shoulder to Castle's, not exactly leaning in but keeping close, and her eyes follow the progression downwards on the screen.

She can feel the muscles in her thighs protesting the standing position, but it doesn't matter.

Home.

He's taking her home.

Her whole being is focused on that fact, her throat tight with everything implied. Familiarity and freedom and fresh air. It's making her light-headed.

They reach the ground floor and the doors slide open on a large white-tiled hall. In front of them the sun is starting to set, golden beams spilling through the glass doors and licking their feet as they step forward; Kate's breath catches in her chest.

Castle must notice her split-second hesitation, because he pauses and turns to her in askance. "Kate?"

"I just..." She clenches her jaw, shakes her head. "Nothing. Let's go."

But this is Castle. The man doesn't give up. "Doesn't look like nothing to me," he says, not budging. He looks at her, blue eyes so serious, and she chews on her inside cheek.

"Really, I'm fine," she tries again, but he only arches his eyebrows at her. Damn it. "Okay," she says quickly, looking away from him. "Um. Tyson never - let me out. He was too careful, or clever, I don't know. I almost made it to the door a couple times, but-" The words die on her tongue and she reminds herself to breathe. In and out.

"You haven't been outside in two years." The desolation in his voice is – too much.

The urge to run away pulses in her, so strong and tempting, and she lifts her eyes to his. "Castle, I'm gonna be terrible at this," she says in an unusual moment of honesty, pushing her hair back with both hands. "Especially if you look at me like that. Okay? I don't – want to tell you anything in the first place, and if you look at me like that-"

"Okay, okay," he agrees eagerly, makes an endearing attempt at controlling his face. "I'll be good, Kate. I promise. I can do it."

She bites her lip, gives herself a second to push back the tears. Jeez, this is exactly why she didn't want to say this stuff in the first place.

Sucking in a breath, Kate looks over to the doors, the setting sun, and she surprises herself by reaching for Castle's hand. "Come on," she says, squeezing his fingers. "We'll do it together."

He squeezes back, his face lighting up for her, tender and so beautiful, and she leads them outside with her heart in her mouth.


"I can't believe they let us walk out so easily," Kate murmurs, her head rolling against the seat of the cab.

The night's quickly falling, a deep blue that spreads over the sky and brings out the contours of the stars, but he only has eyes for her, the way her hair curls wildly at her neck, the loose, fatigued line of her body.

He's dying to touch her.

"I think Jordan pulled a lot of strings," he answers, burying his twitchy fingers under his thighs. "But they had no reason to hold you. You went through their medical tests, you gave a statement-"

"A half-hour statement," she echoes deprecatingly, but he remembers the bloodless, haunted look on her face after the FBI agent left with her testimony, and he can't help but think that a half-hour was already too much. It's not that he doesn't want Tyson paying for what he did to Kate, to them. Of course he does. But he really wishes the price for that wasn't Beckett's sanity.

"You did good, Kate," he says.

Her eyes slide to his, almost hesitant, but then a smile touches her face softly. "Thanks," she breathes, and she drops her hand from her thigh to the seat between them, palm up and offered.

He hastens to slip his fingers out from under his knee, wriggles them to dry the sweat before he laces them with hers. Her smile has widened; she looks like a laugh could spill out of her. Or close.

She also looks so very tired.

"We could still sleep in DC tonight," he offers again in spite of himself. "Take the plane tomorrow, when we're rested and-"

"I don't want to sleep in a hotel, Castle," she reminds him, that touch of steel to her words.

Right. Right. Plane it is.

He rests his head against the back of his seat, takes a long breath to prepare himself for the wait in the airport, the late flight, the long cab ride once in New York. Kate squeezes his hand lightly and he turns his eyes to her.

"You okay?" she asks.

He huffs a breath at the question, but she keeps looking at him, waiting for his answer. Ah. "Does okay even apply here?"

"You know what I mean," she scolds lightly, a trace of amusement in her voice. "You and your words."

"You love my words," he shoots back, stupidly proud for a second before he realizes his mistake. She'll ask him about Nikki Heat next and he's not ready - he doesn't know what-

But he's wrong. "I do," she agrees simply, not even putting up a fight, and she's beautiful, so beautiful in the dimness of the car, the shadows made by the streetlights dancing across the planes of her face, softening the hard angles of her jaw, the light hollows in her cheeks.

She smiles at him, her eyes dark and endless, and shit-

"I want to kiss you," he rasps, the words reluctantly tumbling out.

She ducks her head, the line of her throat working as she swallows, and desolation spreads through him. "Castle," she says, stops. "I don't - I-" she licks her lips and takes her hand back, won't look at him. "You have Kyra," she finishes quietly, but he's fairly sure that's not her main objection.

"I don't, actually," he answers, trying to adjust to the steady pulse of pain in his chest.

"What?" Her head turns sharply, her eyes finding his. "What do you mean?"

"Kyra and I broke up. Or she broke up with me, I guess. When you were giving your statement."

Kate opens her mouth but doesn't seem to know what to say. She sits very straight, stares ahead, and he's at a loss for words.

"Kate-"

"Please tell me I'm not the reason," she rasps.

He says nothing.

"Oh, god," she moans, burying her face in her hands. "Castle, I - no. This isn't-"

"What was I supposed to do?" he says quietly, fisting his hand so he won't reach out. "Kate. You know I would never have gotten back with Kyra if I'd thought you were alive. And Kyra's not stupid - she knows how I feel. What would you do if you were her, stick around and struggle against the inevitable even if you knew-"

"There's no 'inevitable'," Kate cuts him off sharply, her hand clenched over her thigh, eyes shining in the dimness. "Castle, I told you. I'm not ready. I might never be ready again, and the last thing I need is to feel like I'm wrecking your life just by being back in it-"

"You're not wrecking my life-"

"Really? You learned I was alive, what, last night, this morning? And here we are, twenty hours later, and you've already broken up with the woman you've been dating for a year."

"First of all, it's not a year - we were only dating for eight months." Kate makes a frustrated sound in her throat and presses a hand to her eyes. He ignores her. "And second, why are you so upset? It's my life, Kate. My choices to make."

"You've had a long day," she says on an exhale. "An emotionally challenging day. You shouldn't be making any life-altering choices right now."

He looks at her, the defeated line of her shoulders, the sharp rush of her breath filling the silence, and he thinks maybe he knows why she's reacting so strongly. "It's not - about you," he says slowly, choosing his words, and he hears her little huff of disbelief. "I mean. There's no pressure on you, Kate. It's not about you being ready, not about you being my - girlfriend, partner, whatever." He waits for an acknowledgement, a mark of attention, and she peers at him between her fingers. "Do you really think," he starts, can't help the way his voice catches, "that I could date anyone else, knowing you're alive and alone somewhere?"

She says nothing, but her eyes are intent on his face, and she drops her hand back to her lap.

"Because you'd be wrong," he finishes. The words are rough and charged with tears, but he doesn't care. "There's only you, Kate."

There's a long moment when neither of them speaks, and at last she blinks once, twice, leans back against the headrest.

"I love you too," she says, and it's so quiet, so small a sound he almost misses it.


"Do you need anything else?" the flight attendant asks, a too-bright smile on her face.

Kate shakes her head, her fingers twitching around the cup of water, and wills the woman to just go away. The flight leaves DC at 11:30pm, is surprisingly full despite the late hour. The cacophony of sounds - all the voices, a baby crying, a couple quietly arguing, the repetitive little music playing in the background - is driving her crazy. After all those months of silence, of hearing only Tyson's voice and the recordings, her brain simply can't deal with the onslaught of information.

The wait in the airport took too much out of her already, the bright neon lights and the noise, the constant movement around her. She thought she hated the hospital room at the FBI headquarters, but she realizes now that there were some positive aspects to it. Like its being empty. And soundproof.

Maybe the hotel wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Well, she's here now. Kate turns to the window, the infinity of the dark night sky, and tries to focus on that to quell the panic rising in her chest. Castle is in the bathroom and her head feels like it's going to explode from the noise, but she controls her breathing and counts backwards from ten, from twenty, from fifty when it doesn't work.

She's still teetering on the edge when Rick comes back, and of course it only takes him one look at her face to know something's wrong.

"Hey. You okay?" he says quietly, sitting down and brushing his hand over hers. Her fingers are white with gripping the armrest.

She has to consciously loosen her jaw, swallow a few times before she can speak. Come on, Beckett. You can do it.

"It's loud," she just says, furious that it's even a problem at all.

But understanding flashes in his eyes, and then he's sitting up, looking around as if he can figure out some way to make it better. Before she can think she has her fingers on his arm, curled around the sleeve of his jacket, and she's tugging him back to her. "I'll be fine, Castle."

He doesn't look convinced, but the contact mollifies him somewhat, and all she can think about is how warm he is against her, the pulse of blood whispering in his wrist.

"Maybe if you just - told me a story," she suggests, leaning her head into the seat. "You were always pretty good at capturing my attention."

He smiles, doesn't look like he's buying her weak attempt at flirting, but he plays along anyway. She's grateful. "What kind of story?" he asks, body turned towards her as he settles into his seat, watches her with those rich blue eyes.

How she's longed for this. The way he looks at her.

Kate breathes long and deep. "The story of the man left alone on the bridge," she says. It's a lot to ask, she knows, but nearly two years - nearly two years of her life were stolen from her, and if she's never getting them back she needs-

Castle's eyes widen, hesitation, reluctance written on his face. "Kate."

"What happened after I fell in the river?" she asks, can't even suppress the entreaty in her voice. She asked Jordan earlier for the story of Tyson's arrest, how the FBI found her, and she's got at least that missing piece - but her rescue isn't the moment she's most interested in. "Castle, I need to know," she insists when he stays silent.

He lets out a sigh, and his hand trembles over hers.

"Fine," he agrees just as the flight attendant stops by their seats, asks them to fasten their seat belts. Castle obeys easily and Kate moves to do the same, picks up the two parts of the buckle-

And pauses.

It's only a security measure. It's for her own good. Her own good. In case the plane crashes, in case anything happens.

"Miss?" the dark-haired woman asks, a note of impatience in her voice. "Seat belt, please."

Kate hears Castle's voice in a daze, probably rising to her defense; she can't make out the words, but after a sharp retort the flight attendant walks away.

"Kate?" he says gently.

Her eyes can't move away from the two parts of the buckle, her brain completing over and over the simple gesture, lift and push, lift and push, that her hands refuse to execute.

She can't breathe.

"It's okay," Castle soothes, slowly moving his hand to hers, his thumb skimming her wrist. "It's just a seat belt, Kate. You'll be able to undo it the moment we're up in the air."

She parts her mouth, but can't think of an answer to give except it's not, it's not just a seat belt, it's restraint and not being able to move and she just-

"I can't," she chokes out on a sob, letting go of the belt as if it's burned her fingers. "I can't, Castle, God, I - I need air."

She tries to get up, her legs shaking under her, but already the flight attendant is coming towards her, telling her to sit down, and then Castle's arms are around her waist, tugging her down until she's slumped onto his lap, panicked and gasping and desperate.

"Hey, hey, hey," he murmurs against her hair, fingers dancing over her arms, her back, her shoulders. "It's okay, Kate. You're okay. I got you."

Her heart hammers against her ribs, a bird in a cage, but she manages to to gulp down a breath, another one. Air is liquid fire down her throat.

"Castle, I can't," she moans, doesn't even recognize her own voice, that wail of anguish.

Her head falls into the crook of his shoulder; her nose seeks shelter into that soft skin, the familiar scent of him. She can feel the warmth of his breath caressing her hair.

"You can," he says, and his confidence is beautiful, the way he's always believed in her, seen more into Kate Beckett than anyone else has. "Because you want to go home, and the seat belt is only for a little while. Just a little while, Kate. And you're strong. God, you're so strong; I've never met anyone with half your determination, your willpower."

The words don't really matter. What matters is the smell of him, heavy and close, the reality of his arms and the way it wraps around her, makes breathing space inside her chest.

She's suddenly very aware of all the ways their bodies are touching, thigh to thigh and chest to chest, the current that travels and tingles between them. It's good, gives her an anchor, a different focus, so she goes with it and lets her mind rearrange along the lines of her attraction.

"Kate?" he nudges softly.

She exhales, a little shaky but still, steadier than she expected, and pushes herself off his shoulder, meeting his eyes. "Yeah."

He studies her calmly, nothing but love on his face, and she knows that with anybody else it would drive her crazy, but-

Not with Castle.

"You good?" he asks. She nods, and then - she doesn't know what happens - it's an out-of-body experience, her leaning back in, the way she drapes her mouth over his, heavy and wet, the delicate press of her tongue to his bottom lip.

The flight attendant loudly clears her throat and Kate breaks away, almost surprised that it's real. "Sir, Miss. Please."

Right.

Beckett looks at Castle, his dazed eyes and open mouth, and then she slides back into her own seat, buckles up quickly before she can think about it.

It doesn't have to be that tight; if she doesn't look down she won't even feel it.

She won't.

Finally satisfied, the attendant moves away after one last pursed-mouth look, and Beckett curls her bottom lip between her teeth, unsure what exactly just happened. It's not fair of her - she can't go telling him that she's not ready and then kiss him the next moment. She shouldn't be kissing anyone, anyway. Right?

"Sorry about that," she says, a little breathless still as she cuts her eyes to him. He's staring at her, shock and a touch of-

Oh. Oh, arousal.

Relief swells in her chest, clogs her throat, and for a glorious minute she can think of nothing else - even with what she's been through, what they've both been through, there's at least something of them, however small, however fragile, that has remained intact.