Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

Beckett puts down her coffee so that she can give him her full attention. He really does look uncharacteristically serious. Grave, almost. "You sure you're all right? Are you having nightmares?"

"Nightmares?" That takes him aback. "Oh, no. Not nightmares. Exactly the opposite. Sorry if I seemed, you know, worried." He smiles, somewhat feebly.

"That's a relief." She picks up her mug and has it halfway to her lips when she stops. "Oh, wait, these aren't porn dreams, are they? Hot naked girls with whips and whipped cream? Because say no more if they are. You can save them for Espo. Maybe not Ryan, though. He still has a lot of choirboy in him."

At any other time that would have made him laugh, but now he's too nervous.

"No, no. Not at all. Nothing X-rated about these dreams. They're positively PG—well, except for some of the language. You've got quite a mouth on you when you're mad." Oh, God, what has he done? Why hadn't he written this out ahead of time? The look on her face, her suddenly pale, very pale face.

"My language?"

"Uh."

"My language? Do I appear in these dreams of yours? Swearing up a storm? Who else is in them?"

"Me. I. I am. You and I are in them. Just us."

The mug is still in her hand. She looks both nervous and cornered. "Oh. Well. Well, we're partners. Work together every day. Sometimes almost around the clock." She waves her hand in a vaguely circular motion. "All kinds of dramatic situations, murders, things. Not surprising to dream about us, right? Working. Normal, really. Completely normal."

"I don't think these dreams are exactly normal."

And there goes at least eight ounces of Jamaica Blue Mountain coffee, all over her jeans. He grabs a dishtowel, which he had unaccountably thrown over his shoulder just before he left the kitchen, and tries to put it on her lap, or what would be her lap if she were still sitting. Instead, he has inadvertently wrapped the towel, and thus his hands, around her thigh. They both freeze in place, until he lets go and the towel falls soggily to the floor.

"Did the coffee burn you?" he asks, horrified. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. I'm fine, Castle. Not burned. Just hot. I mean, the coffee is hot, but not scalding." She pulls the damp denim as far away from her leg as she can, which isn't far enough. "Ouch. Damn. Damn. Hotter than I thought."

"Take them off."

She gapes at him.

"Not here! I mean, go into my bathroom and take them off." He points in the direction of his bath and she half hops, half hobbles across the room. "Put some cold water on them, and on your skin," he calls to her retreating back. And mine, he says to himself. A full-immersion cold bath would be good, right now. "I'll get you something to wear." Disaster, he's thinking. Titanic disaster. Talk about a cold bath. He's steered them into an iceberg and he can feel the ocean about to pull them to an icy grave.

And what can he give her to wear? She's not the same size as Alexis or his mother. Oh, maybe he could lend her some sweatpants, or a robe, and run her jeans through the dryer. Shouldn't take more than 30 minutes. No problem, not at all: half an hour of utter humiliation shouldn't kill him. He grabs a pair of clean sweatpants from a drawer, knocks quietly, and explains what he'll do. She opens the bathroom door just enough to make the pants exchange; he flees to the dryer.

A few minutes later both tentatively approach the sofa, arriving simultaneously but standing uncomfortably at opposite ends. Time to man up, he figures.

"Beckett?" he asks, shoving his hands in his back pockets to hide the fact that they're shaking worse than before. "Could I start over, please?"

"Oh. Okay. Yeah. I'll just sit."

He pauses for a moment, wants to clear the air a little. "Nice pants, by the way."

"You like 'em? They belong to a friend of mine. He's a dreamer. Although he'd probably say he's a dreamboat. He's given to that kind of self-assessment. I'm just saying he dreams. Apparently."

This time he does laugh, hard, and finally sits down, too. He turns his head sharply and looks towards the door. "Whoa, did you see that?"

"See...?"

"I think the elephant just left the room."

Now it's her turn to laugh. "You know what? I really need some coffee."

"Coming up. Won't take a minute."

He's almost finished when he realizes that she has joined him in the kitchen, and is peering into a cabinet. "Can I get you something, Beckett?"

She smiles, that lopsided one that he's seen only a couple of times before. "I was hoping that you had some peanuts. If the elephant didn't eat all of them, that is."

"Peanuts? We've got salted, unsalted, dry roasted, honey roasted, chocolate-covered, and unshelled. The elephant is partial to the unshelled, but not the others."

"Honey roasted, then."

He gets a jar, pours some nuts in a bowl and hands it to her. "If you'll take this, I'll carry the coffee."

By the time they're back in the living room, he's wishing that he'd added a shot of something to his, as his bravery is deserting him.

"Okay, starting again. You remember the other morning when I brought you the pain au chocolat?"

"Sure. It was delicious. A nice surprise."

"You asked me if it was a special occasion."

"I did? Oh, right, I did, and you never answered."

"Before I even had time to, you said that my hair looked different, and had I had a haircut or something?"

"Don't know where you're going with this, Castle, but yeah, I remember. You said you had a new barber, a woman."

"I did, but that wasn't entirely accurate."

"Your new barber isn't entirely a woman? What, is she or he transitioning or something? I can't believe you never brought that up before. You'd love that, a transgender barber."

He needs to get this conversation back on track, but it's not easy. "No, what I meant was it wasn't entirely accurate that I had a new barber."

"Castle."

He waits, but that's all she's saying.

"Yes?"

"Maybe my wine-to-caffeine ratio has temporarily affected by deductive abilities, but I really don't understand what you're saying here. And weren't you going to tell me about your dreams?"

"I am, I am. Okay, here's the thing. When I said that to you, that morning? At that time I really did believe I had a new barber, and it was you."

"Say what?"

"I had had an amazingly vivid dream just a few hours before." He doesn't dare look at her, so he's fixing his eyes on something that he can't quite bring into focus over her left shoulder. "In my dream I woke up because someone was ringing my doorbell in the middle of the night. When I opened the door, there you were, in a white coat, carrying a bag, and you said that you'd come over to cut my hair and give me a shave. And you did. It was incredible. You even had a bottle of sandalwood oil and you put a few drops on the hot washcloths you used on my face."

Now he risks a quick peek, and what he sees is that her eyes are larger than any kinkajou's, in captivity or out. "I shaved your face? I cut your hair?"

"It was so sexy, I mean sensual. There was no sex, seriously, Beckett. I old you it was PG."

"You thought this was real? When you woke up couldn't you tell that you hadn't a hair cut?"

"I know this sounds crazy, but I couldn't. Didn't. I slept late and I left home so fast to get to the precinct that I didn't do my usual hair routine."

She looks a little less stunned. She even almost smiles. "Ha! I knew you had one, Castle. A —" she makes air quotes with her fingers—" 'hair routine'."

"Yeah, well, I was rushing, so I just slapped on some gel and that's why my hair looked different to you. But I didn't figure that out until later."

At least she's looking at him, and not pulling away to the far end of the sofa. "You believed this."

"I did. You should have been there. Of course, if you'd been there it would have been real. Please, you just have to take my word for it. I was a hundred percent sure that it had happened. And I was looking for clues and dropping hints. Remember we had that case, the Fryers? And when you were doing the paperwork I caught you humming?"

"Yeah. So?"

"It was exactly the way you'd been humming in the dream, even if it was a different tune."

"I was humming in the dream?"

"Yes, it was The Barber of Seville. You thought it was appropriate for the occasion." He runs his nail down the seam of the pillow next to him to buy a little time. "Am I crazy, Beckett, or have you been humming more lately? In real life, I mean."

"Maybe. I guess."

Ah ha, he thinks. He's onto something here. She looks a little guilty, or shy, or both. This is a clue. He'll get back to this.

"Never mind my humming, Castle. You said dreams, plural. You gonna tell me about another one?"

"It was last night."

"Last night!"

"Yeah, but it was funny."

"So it didn't involve me slitting your throat with a razor."

"You were very pissed off in it, and you did poke me hard in the chest a few times, but fortunately you weren't wielding a razor."

"Okay, go on. I guess."

"You rang the doorbell in the middle of the night."

"Well, there's a theme."

"But this time you stormed in and said I'd put a spell on you."

She raises her eyebrows.

"I know, I know. You said that I had turned you into an anagramist."

"What?"

"That's exactly what I said! In the dream. You said that you were about to text me something and when my name came up on the screen you suddenly began to think in anagrams and you couldn't stop. Said it was driving you crazy and I had to fix it."

"Anagrams? What kind of anagrams?"

"Oh, you had a bunch for my name. Like Slick Crate, which I really liked as a pick-up name in a bar, not that I ever pick up women in a bar, but if I did." He coughs. "And, um, It Crackles, and some others, including the disgusting Lice Tracks."

"I dunno, Castle, I like that one. Since you like to bug me."

"Like fleas."

"Fleas."

"I bring them up because apparently it was all my fault that your brain was infested with anagrams because I'd been talking about dogs, yesterday. Dog is God backwards, and then I mentioned that vile and live were anagrams. And that infected your brain. According to you."

"That is the dumbest thing you've ever said."

"Hey, it was a dream. Doesn't count in the Dumb Things tally. But to continue."

"Oh, please do."

"You were yelling and cursing at me and telling me I had put a spell on you and I had to reverse it."

"As I'm anagram-free, I guess you did."

"I did."

"Just out of curiosity, and because I know you're dying to tell me, just how did you reverse this hex?"

"Not hex, spell. A play on words. Anagrams."

"Right. How did you cast out this spell?"

"I kissed you."

"You kissed me? And that worked?"

"Yup. And you kissed me back."

"What?"

"I told you it was a dream. But you know, it felt exactly the way it did ten days ago. When I was awake. And so were you."

She's silent. Silent, and looking away.

"Ten days ago, Beckett."

Still silent.

He says it again, softly. "Ten days ago."

Silent.

"You remember ten days ago. I know you do. Outside the warehouse, where Espo and Ryan were being held."

She's still not looking at him when she mumbles, "That was just a diversion."

"Oh, it was a diversion, all right. It was spectacularly, mind-blowingly diverting. But I believed it, and I think you did, too. It felt like a dream, but oh my God, that was a real kiss."

TBC