Never before in his few times of eating here had Castle noticed the amount of mirrors hanging on the walls. It isn't an uncommon decoration, especially for restaurants, but they're only halfway through their meal and he's beginning to notice how much Kate seems to dislike them. He doesn't quite understand it, has never seen her react negatively to any form of reflective surface before, but practically every time she lifts her gaze from her plate, she flinches.

"Do you want me to request a different table?" Castle inquires, concern bubbling in his chest at the white knuckled grip she has on her silverware.

Kate's eyes jerk up from her barely touched plate and his worry grows at the sight of her dilated pupils, the way they can't remain focused on him for very long. She had been fine when they'd arrived, sitting across from him with a languid smile stretched across her lips while their fingers had flirted over the menu, but that behavior seems like it belongs to another person entirely now. The woman in front of him is not the Kate who had spent a relaxing day with him in a stunning cathedral, kissing his lips and soothing his doubts; this is a woman who is terrified.

But of what?

"Kate," he murmurs, abandoning his fork to reach for her hand, cradling her fingers even as they shake against his. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing, I just-"

Her eyes flutter around the room, scanning, and he follows the line of her gaze, a snap of clarity echoing through his skull the moment the restaurant's door swings open and the glint of sunlight reflects off one of the mirrors, has her shoulders jerking as if she's preparing for impact.

The sight has even his breath hitching, his pulse strengthening to a gallop that has his lungs working too hard, the scent of her blood in his nose, the gushing heat of it on his hands because he couldn't reach her quick enough-

"Come here," he breathes, half rising from his seat to coax her up from her own, listening to her huff in response, but it's weak, resembling a wheeze more than a sound of annoyance, and Kate slides out from her side of the booth, led by the tug of his hand until she's slipping into the empty space of worn leather beside him.

It's a bit of a tight fit, but Rick doesn't mind the firm press of her thigh to his, the reassuring brush of her arm glancing along his side, but she's trembling, her breathing harsh, and he hopes that somehow, he can bring her back from the brink of a panic attack.

"Beckett, hey," he mumbles, orientating his body towards her in the snug booth, shielding her from the rest of the diner. "Focus on me for a second."

Castle watches her throat bob with a rough swallow, but her eyes dart up to meet his once more, clinging to his gaze. "This - this is stupid," she gets out, blinking furiously against the panic and the tears swarming the corners of her eyes. "I'm fine, we're in Paris, it's not – no one is coming, but I-"

"I know," he assures her, his heart twisting, snagging painfully on his ribcage when her fingers rise, push hard to a place in the middle of her sternum that he's never actually seen. But he knows what's there, can picture the raised flesh of a bullet scar embedded into her skin all too clearly. "It's okay."

"It's not," she gasps, squeezing her eyes shut, shaking her head against it all. "Castle, it's not."

He can hear her breathing speeding up again, growing irregular, so he reaches for her, cradles her into his chest when she doesn't try to break free of his hold, and shelters her from the sharp flashes of light that have snipers, gunshots, and fear crowding for attention in her mind, suffocating her.

Her arms unfurl to coil around his torso, locking securely around his ribs and fisting the back of his shirt in her hands as she buries her face in his neck, stains his skin with hot tears and the cool puffs of air spilling from her parted lips.

Castle trains his own breathing to a steady pattern, hoping that maybe it'll encourage her lungs to mimic his, to retain the oxygen she sucks in. Glancing around the room, he's grateful to see that few of the other patrons are paying attention to them, so consumed by their meals, by the joys and tragedies of their own lives, that two people huddled in a booth fighting off demons of the past is nothing out of the ordinary. The waiter does offer him a concerned look from another table, but Castle gives the other man a light shake of his head, flicks his eyes to their table in askance for the bill.

Kate takes a deep breath, her ribs extending beneath his hand and Castle rubs soothing circles over her back, anchoring her there with the weight of his outstretched palm to the middle of her spine.

"I'm sorry," she exhales against his collarbone and he's relieved to hear the words come out on an even breath, until he comprehends them.

"There's nothing to apologize for," he informs her, gliding one hand up the path of her vertebrae to curve at her nape, stroking his thumb over the hollow spot at the base of her skull. "How long has this been happening?"

"Since last summer," she confesses, gulping in another breath that doesn't choke her, slowly but steadily floating down from the heights of her panic attack. "Most days I have a handle on it, but sometimes it'll flare up, especially if something triggers it…"

Rick sighs and smears a kiss to her temple in apology, stuttering to a stop after his lips are already grazing her hair. It's too soon for this, too soon for gentle kisses and intimate moments, but she's in pain, radiating shame, and that has to provide some sort of free pass, right? Besides, it's his fault she had to endure the flood of memories.

"I should have realized the mirrors-"

"No," she protests, easing up from her coiled spot against his chest, but her arms remain laced around his torso, the grip of her fingers in his shirt still tight enough to tear fabric. "There was no way you could have known. I didn't even realize until it was too late."

"Regardless, I think we're about done here-"

"Castle, you haven't even finished your meal," she points out, nodding to the near empty plate of delicious Parisian food, but he merely shrugs.

"Practically full. Besides, I was saving room for ice cream. So unless you'd like to finish your plate, I'm ready to go."

The waiter chooses that moment to approach with the bill and Castle hands the man his credit card, nods when the server tells him he'll be right back in a polite, practiced English. Kate sighs, dropping her head to his shoulder for a handful of seconds and claiming another full breath through her nose, exhaling through her lips, her respiratory system back in working order and causing his skin to crackle with electricity where her breath fans at his collarbone.

"Fine," she acquiesces at last, raising her head and scraping a hand through her hair, dislodging her loose ponytail. "But when we get back to your apartment, where I left my wallet, I'm paying you back for dinner."

"And ice cream," he quips, ignoring the idea of her paying him for anything, because yeah, that's not happening.

Their waiter returns, hands Castle his card back, and wishes them a pleasant evening while Kate gracefully eases out of the booth, answering the man with a smile and a fluent French phrase rolling past her lips that has Rick stilling in his seat.

"You speak French?"

Kate smirks at him over her shoulder, extending her hand and hauling him the rest of the way out of the booth when he accepts her wiggling fingers. "Must have forgotten to mention that."

"Why am I not surprised?" he grumbles, taking a step forward, but Kate stiffens, a strange look of hurt and a hint of indignation creasing her brow.

"I wasn't trying to hide it," she murmurs, the grip of her hand loosening against his, threatening to slip away, but he still doesn't understand why she would believe… unless – oh, that would make sense. She thinks he's accusing her of keeping things from him again. Well, it wouldn't be the first time she conveniently forgot to mention-

Let it go, Rick.

"No, no, not what I meant," he stammers, turning his back to the door to face her, and he's aware that they're blocking one of the many paths through the maze of tables that the staff use to maneuver through the restaurant, but he just needs a second, needs to hold her gaze and make her see it when he speaks. "I was only saying it shouldn't surprise me you speak French. You know, since you've always been good with languages and – and well, it's hot and you're always surprising me with your hotness so… it fit?"

Her neck flushes, the kiss of crimson spreading up to claim her cheeks, but her laughter overshadows his embarrassment, and hers, and she lifts a hand to his chest, nudges him towards the exit with her lips threatening to crack open on a grin.

Once they're outside, immersed in the traffic filling the sidewalks and the fresh air that has the extra tension left from their rather disastrous dinner fading from her frame into the concrete, Kate drifts with him down the sidewalk until they can emerge from the ebb and flow of pedestrians.

"Sorry I jumped to conclusions," she offers, training her gaze on the Seine. "I just don't want you to think…" Her lips purse, her expression thoughtful, one he recognizes from long nights staring at dead end murder boards. "No more secrets," she states with finality, flicking her eyes back to his with resolution burning bright in hers. "No more hiding."

"Okay," Castle agrees, accommodating the stretch of her fingers against his hand, allowing her to thread their digits and embrace his palm. She's surprising him, every day, every hour, but he won't complain, won't push or prod even though his mind continues to wander back to their last fight in her living room - You don't know me, Castle. You think you do, but you don't - and how he longs to ask her a question neither of them ever had an answer to. What are we now? "No more secrets."

"Good," she breathes, a tiny, relieved smile flickering across her face. "Still want ice cream?"

"Duh," he scoffs, recovering quickly, shoving thoughts of the past to the back of his mind for now and dragging her towards the best ice cream shop in the city.