As wonderful as a romantic dinner at Spago might have been after the busy afternoon they've had, they're content to take advantage of room service back at their hotel, ordering plenty of food and a bottle of chardonnay. Castle had reasoned that there would be ample opportunity for them to enjoy high-end cuisine in Manhattan, and their sightseeing of Beverly Hills – and the rest of Southern California – could wait for a trip on which they weren't working to solve a case against official orders; she's pretty sure he'd also been influenced by the exhaustion etched into each line of her face and the gratefulness scribbled into her smile.

Their dinner arrives, delivered with a flourish by the eager attendant, then the wine is opened, glasses poured, and bottle placed in a chiller on the linen-covered coffee table. Castle hadn't been kidding when he'd touted the excellent service at the hotel, and if the gorgeous presentation is any indication, the food will be incredible.

They might not be all dolled up for a date at a fancy restaurant, but everything Castle's providing tonight makes it easier to forget the sadness that still courses through her veins, diluting it until it becomes manageable. Maybe for a few hours – until the last of the wine drips from the bottle like the final grains of sand in an hourglass – they can pretend to be carefree in a way she's so rarely allowed herself to imagine.

Reality will be waiting on the other side; she knows it's coiled and ready to strike.

So, they settle onto the couch, sitting closer to each other than is probably necessary, and allow themselves to get lost in their meal and mindless conversation. It's ridiculous to adhere to a strict definition of "his" and "hers" when it comes to the obviously delicious entrees, so they share without a word about it, sampling each other's food as they hum their pleasure and nod encouragingly.

The investigation seeps back into their consciousness sooner than she'd like, theorizing about the case when a small amount of dessert still remains untouched. Two glasses of wine, combined with the devastation of losing Royce and a lack of decent sleep, have her resting against the back of the sofa, pliant even as tension continues to threaten from a heartbeat away. Then the nostalgia beckons, memories seeking a voice, and she isn't sure where to begin or what to withhold. The letter tucked into her luggage, already worn from anxious hands and errant tears, suggests that she not keep anything from Castle, but her carefully crafted independence is a difficult defense mechanism to overcome.

So she treads cautiously, reading Castle's reaction as she reminisces, prepared to change the subject to something safer at the first sign of his jealousy – or too much of her vulnerability – but he is steady in his support as she recounts her first impression of her training officer. She's wistful at best, and in typical Castle fashion, he does what he can to help pull her back to safety.

"You know what I thought when I first met you?"

She's surprised by the quiet interruption, but hums for him to continue, and the words that follow take her breath away. It's not a secret that his feelings for her are serious – maybe he could even love her – but it's still overwhelming, the way he sees so much more in her than anyone else has.

Well, anyone other than Royce.

And that realization nearly breaks her, the sharp and sudden awareness of why she's so often crippled by the idea of opening her heart to Castle, professionally fearless and personally pathetic. Royce was the only other man with that same unwavering faith in her; he was someone who made her stronger, not because she couldn't conquer the world on her own, but because he helped her see that she could. She had been so tentative back then, but he'd stood at her back and convinced her to march forward, all the while reassuring her that he'd be only a step behind.

And then he was gone.

She'd trusted him. She'd loved him. Royce had been there for her in a way nobody ever had, and she let herself surrender to that all-encompassing warmth, right up until he'd left her cold. His exit could be explained any number of innocent ways – precinct transfers certainly happened – but he'd departed with little more than a wave goodbye, leaving her wondering how one-sided the adoration had been, and whether she'd been a fool all along.

With little more than a wave goodbye. No. She flies from one memory to another, seeing with absolute clarity the evening that Castle had left her alone in the bullpen, her curious team staring with drinks in hand as her timid confession had been trampled by her partner and his ex-wife number two. If Castle had been able to flash her a smile and disappear for months then, would it be that much more difficult to do it now?

She tries to remind herself that so much has changed since then, and what she's built with Castle in the past two months can't be equated to her situation with Royce years ago. At the most fundamental level, she'd never been romantically involved with Royce and Castle isn't her mentor. Still, the emotional similarities are striking, the depth of her attachment to both of them terrifying, and she fights the urge to press her palm to her chest as a means of keeping her heart safe now.

The spiral continues as she reflects upon her relationship with Will, but she knows his love for her had never been unconditional; his consistent need to prioritize his career over her had proved that much. Demming had come and gone before he'd had a chance to have much impact at all. And Josh had always been a placeholder, as heartless as that seems in hindsight, accompanying her through months of denial. So she's left considering Royce and Castle, the two men she hadn't compared until a moment ago, the praise of her strength undeserved when she's suddenly so fucking scared.

She deflects the compliments; she isn't sure what else to do. "You're not so bad yourself, Castle."

But then he's looking at her – looking into her – and she knows she's deflected nothing at all. The truth is everywhere. It's in the brilliant blue pushed aside by the black of his pupils. It's in the barely noticeable curve of his lips as they keep his smile contained. And she's certain it's swirling in his lungs, waiting for the moment it can be carried away on an innocent exhale, given the freedom to exist in the air between them.

In the end, the truth goes nowhere, battled back by the impulsive press of her lips against his. If he's surprised, he hides it well, welcoming the slide of her tongue and the tiny moan she no longer tries to deny. He seems so damn sure of them, while she's fighting the newly solidified fear that he could walk away as unexpectedly as Royce had, and she's almost desperate for the physical confirmation of Castle's feelings, the warm press of skin on skin. They can stay right here on the couch while she settles into a familiar position on his lap, or they can fall into one of the beds where they'll tussle for control. One way or another, she's ready to tattoo his heart with her name, and maybe it will make it harder for him to leave. Her decision made, even as her chest constricts, she deepens the kiss and swiftly unfastens the first of too many buttons on his shirt.

Castle has other plans.

He covers her hand with his and breaks the kiss that has barely begun, easing back until he can duck his head and meet her eyes. "Hey. It's been a really long day. We should probably get some sleep so we can get an early start tomorrow."

There is a lot more left unspoken, but she quickly realizes that he'd been ready to draw a line in the sand before they'd even arrived in California; his choice to reserve a two-room suite makes sense now. The rejection stings, but her gratitude works to remind her that this sweet, beautiful man – a rehabilitated playboy – won't allow their first time to be tainted by grief and the possibility of regret. When he eventually rises and makes his way toward his room, she fights to convince herself it's only for the night, that he's not walking out on her, but the lump in her throat makes it difficult to respond until she can choke out a single word.

"Castle-"

He turns in the open doorway and offers her a smile. "Goodnight, Kate."

She knows she stares after him for too long, but then she finally shakes her head and drags herself from the couch. It's only once she's in her room, the door nearly shut behind her, when she thinks she hears the whispered click of his door reopening.

Perhaps he's changed his mind.

She's definitely changed hers.

It's better this way.


Kate's up before dawn the next morning, and Castle's not terribly far behind her. While she's managed a bit of a head start, her makeshift murder board rapidly filling with the facts of the case, he seems ready to shake his drowsiness and jump back into the investigation. There's a hint of awkwardness lingering from the night before, but she's already cleaned up the evidence of their dinner, and welcomes his input as she studies the information they've gathered. By the time Seeger arrives, they're standing in solidarity.

She can't quite say that everything is perfect throughout the rest of the day. They're partners who know each other very well, so working in tandem isn't difficult, but she's aware their usually flawless rhythm is off. She's also aware they won't discuss what happened. She and Castle have made so much progress since she broke up with Josh, but they're experts at avoiding the subject of them. Even within the decent conversations they've had about trust and jealousy, neither has brought up the status of their relationship or when they'll admit they have one at all. It's a boat that needs to be rocked, but Castle won't press the fact that she would have slept with him in a moment of need, and she'll gladly accept his offer of silence. Especially in light of the insecurities that are still buzzing beneath her skin.

The bright California sun manages to shine upon them for a minute that afternoon, blessing them with a quick connection when she thinks everything's gone awry after her poolside chat with Ganz. Castle reveals that he captured their suspect's recent call list, and she's relieved and proud and really wants to kiss him…so she does. It's the most natural reaction and a wonderful thing that she doesn't have time to second-guess, the type of kiss that should happen over breakfast or at a barbecue with friends or when saying goodnight at the loft.

Instead, it lasts only a second before they slip back into the seriousness of the case and the need to follow up on the lead he's found for them. The events of the next several hours are mostly a whirlwind as they work with Seeger – and the boys in New York – to track down Ganz in Santa Monica, finding him under the pier and bringing him the hell she didn't know he'd been promised. She scares herself with how close she comes to pulling the trigger when she has the gun aimed at his head, but by the time she's sitting next to Castle on the flight home, mere hours later, she's bothered by an entirely different fear.

Her partner sleeps soundly, and she opens the letter from Royce to read it for the hundredth time.

Risking our hearts is why we're alive. That last thing you want is to look back on your life and wonder, 'if only.'

His meaning is unmistakable, though it shakes her to think that Royce had been able to read her so well – Castle, too – during his brief encounter with them months ago. And she can't ignore the knowing looks from Ryan and Esposito, Captain Montgomery only slightly more subtle in his encouragement of the relationship she'll still refute. Then there's Lanie, who has called her out from day one, and her father, who so desperately wants to summon Johanna's joyful "I told you so." She can only imagine the pressure she'd be getting from Martha and Alexis if they were in a position to speak their minds, and it's all too much for her.

It's suffocating, this crowd of well-intentioned friends and family, led by the words of a dead man she'd believed for too long. Everyone is urging her to risk her heart because they don't want her to her to suffer the remorse laced through If only we had given the relationship a try or If only we hadn't waited too long or If only we had admitted we'd fallen in love. But as she trails her fingers over the worn paper again, she knows she's more afraid of another one.

If only we'd decided to stay friends instead.