A/N: Ready for a meeting with the wedding planner that might have some unintended consequences? Thanks for your patience with this chapter. My entire family was sick all last week, and sleep edged out writing for importance (but only by a very small margin). :)

"Male or female?" Castle twisted his torso toward the driver's seat where Beckett was sitting, eyes fixed on the road ahead. The address of the coffee shop where they were meeting the wedding planner scrolled across the bottom of the GPS screen, and Beckett did a double take to make sure she hadn't just blown by the next turn.

"What?" she asked, briefly averting her gaze toward her partner.

"The first dance song. Is the singer male or female?" Castle rubbed his hands together, excitement cutting through his voice.

Oh yea, she had almost forgetten. With all the events that had transpired over the past two days Castle's plea to turn her first dance selection into a game of twenty questions was a distant, fuzzy memory—like something she remembered from a dream. "Isn't it supposed to be a yes or no question?" she teased, mustering up her best playful tone. She needed to snap out of detective mode and banter with Castle was one of the fastest routes she knew.

"Alright then." Castle changed his game plan. "Is the person who sings the song male?"

"Ummm….sometimes."

"And you were the one being a stickler about yes or no questions. What do you mean sometimes?"

"That's not a yes or no question, Castle." She bit her bottom lip, trying to hide the pleasure she derived from pushing his buttons.

"So sometimes a man sings it?

"Yes."

"And sometimes a woman sings it?

"Yes."

"As in there are multiple versions of the same song?"

"Yes. And just so you know that's four questions."

"Hey…wait…Beckett that's not fair. I…I…

"I pick bad questions? I am going to lose this one? I am getting my butt kicked by Beckett? Take your pick—all are true." She broke out into a big grin as Castle slumped back against the seat with an exaggerated sigh—the pout clearly visible on his face even in her peripheral vision. He'd seen Beckett's competitive side flair up on a few occasions in the past but this took it to a whole new level, and he loved it—but he wasn't about to let it show.

"Face it, you're just afraid you can't handle my moves if I win and we do a choreographed dance." Castle began fist-pumping, his hands grazing the roof of the car, his chest gyrating forward and backward. It looked like he was having some sort of seizure, maybe swatting away a deranged bee—not dancing.

"Clearly someone needs to sign you up for A Night of Dance. America is missing out." Castle continued convulsing in the passenger seat, too distracted to pick up on the sarcasm.

Beckett pulled the car to a stop outside of a small café. Warm light from inside filtered out onto the sidewalk, giving the place an intimate and cozy ambience that reminded her of lazy Sundays in bed. She tried to soak it up like she was basking in the warmth of the sun, waiting for the light to reenergize her dwindling energy stores. The smell of coffee and pastries wafted out sending her salivary glands into overdrive and she tried to remember if she had eaten lunch.

Inside the café, smooth jazz thrummed amongst couples, leaned in close over half-eaten muffins, talking in hushed voices. Beckett scanned the tables looking for a lone, middle-aged woman, sure to stand out from the twenty-somethings filling the room. She reached out for Castle's hand and intertwined their fingers; she needed the physical reminder that they were in this together.

"Richard. Richard Castle." Castle and Beckett swiveled their heads toward the side wall where a petite woman sat, waving excitedly, her view mostly blocked by a tower of binders that looked ready to spew their contents all over the table. She sprung from her seat and scuttled—that was only word Beckett could think to describe her crab-like, quick-footed walk—across the café, her arms waving through the air like she was conducting a symphony.

"Oh boy," Beckett mumbled under her breath.

"Yep, definitely a friend of my mom," Castle said. Beckett gave his hand a 'play nice' squeeze before forcing a smile and bracing herself for impact from the five foot ball of energy hurtling toward her.

"Richard. Kathryn," she said with great flair. Her raspy, deep voice combined with the dramatic hand gestures made it look like she was mid-performance in an epic play. "It is so, so, so, so nice to finally meet you two. Please let me introduce myself. I am Sandy Schulman, but please just call me Sandy." Castle extended his hand, but Sandy bypassed his arm, instead leaning in between Castle and Beckett, one twig-like arm wrapped around each of them. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, squeezing them together. "Can you feel that?"

Castle and Beckett traded confused glances, both stunned into silence by the Kumbaya moment that was unraveling. Castle subtly nodded his head toward the exit, feeling a sudden urge to bolt, but Beckett's clenched grip around his hand kept his feet firmly planted.

Sandy pushed back to look up at them. "Love—pure and simple." She grabbed each of their free hands, linking them into a circle. "It's magical, is it not?"

"Uh…" Castle stammered, but Sandy carried on, eyes closed as if in meditation, clearly intending her question to be rhetorical.

"Come, come. Let's have a seat." She led them toward her table, hands still clasped, and Castle felt like he was back in Kindergarten holding hands with his classmates as the teacher led them from lunch to recess. Beckett didn't care how ridiculous they looked; she was just relieved to have the stench of ammonia and hydrogen peroxide out from under her nose. She wondered how the woman dealt with the strong odor following her around all day long, not to mention how her thinning, onyx black hair remained affixed to her head with that much hair dye.

"Now I want you both to close your eyes," Sandy said once they were all seated. "I want you to envision your wedding day. What does it look like?" She emphatically paused, and Castle guessed that this speech, like every other movement she made, was well rehearsed. "Where are you at? The grand ballroom of The Plaza maybe. Or a small garden just outside the city." Castle cracked open one eye and peaked over at Beckett. Her watched the corner of her mouth twitching involuntarily and wondered how long she could hold back the laughter. "Do you see cascading arches of flowers? Or maybe rustic candelabras lining the aisle. What are you wearing? Feel the fabric under your fingertips. Taste the food. Hear the music." Sandy began humming a slow, rhythmic waltz. "Now open your eyes. That vision you just had, it is my job as your wedding planner, to turn it into a reality."

Sandy dropped their hands and started clapping, a one-woman audience to her one-woman performance. Beckett looked back at the glass display case filled with sandwiches and pastries. "Uh Sandy, would you mind if we got something to eat before we dive into…" she scanned the overflowing binders, feeling slightly overwhelmed, "all of this."

Castle sprung from his seat with an offer to go order for them, leaving Beckett alone with Sandy.

"He's such a gentleman," Sandy observed, and Beckett was glad she mistook Castle's sudden desire to buy her a sandwich as chivalry.

"So Sandy, how is it that you know Martha?" Beckett asked, hoping to direct the conversation before Sandy began another monologue.

"Oh we go way back, although I don't want to admit just how far lest I give away my age." She coyly winked at Beckett. "We did a few off-Broadway plays together. Martha was always the shining star of the show while I tended to get roles like the old maid or the lead character's sister's cousin. Martha was better than me at, how shall I say it, giving a nuanced performance."

You don't say, Beckett thought.

"Well my career fizzled, and I stumbled into wedding planning when I realized that much like the theatre, a wedding is a performance—only it's a one-night only, once-in-lifetime kind of show."

"You do know this isn't Rick's first wedding, right?" Sandy's features flashed embarrassment before she covered her slip with a big, thin-lipped grin.

"And I see we are already airing my dirty laundry," Castle said, setting down a sandwich wrap and a coffee in front of Beckett. "One grande skim latte, two-pumps sugar free vanilla. And it's actually my third wedding." Castle sat down and took a big bite of his own sandwich, glad to have already had that discussion with Beckett.

"Well you know what they say," Sandy said, "when your heart is broken, it takes a very special person to make it whole again." She reached out and patted Beckett's hand.

"So where do we start?" Beckett asked, not wanting to linger on Castle's unsuccessful relationships.

"How about a date. Do you two already have a date in mind?"

"No, not really." Beckett shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She hated feeling unprepared.

"Perfect," Sandy said. "You won't believe how many of the couples I meet with think it's possible to pull off an elegant wedding within a year, especially in New York. I mean all of the top-end places are booked for at least the next eighteen months. I say we start looking at spring 2016 and go from there. Thoughts?"

Hell no, that was the first thing that came to his mind. After an agonizing five years, Castle was not willing to wait another two. It may not be romantic, but if his choices were between a swanky wedding at the Plaza two years from now or a trip down to the courthouse right this second, he'd grab Kate's hand and rush out the door without giving it a second thought. He looked over at Kate to see her face mirroring the same shock he was feeling.

When neither of them said anything Sandy continued, "you know what, sometimes I find it easier to focus on picking the venue and then see what dates they have available." She flung open one of her binders and began laying pamphlets out on the table. "I'm thinking for such a special couple we start with The Mandarin Oriental Hotel." She pushed a picture of a large ballroom toward them. "Picture this, four hundred of your guests watching you exchange vows in front of panoramic views of Central Park and the Hudson River."

Beckett squeezed Castle's hand under the table, feeling overwhelmed and unable to speak up, despite her sudden strong opinions. For someone who could go toe-to-toe with potential murder suspects she was feeling uncharacteristically timid. She hoped Castle could fill in the gaps of her silence.

"Um Sandy," Castle began, "can we automatically eliminate any venues with sweeping views of the Hudson." He shuddered remembering the day he and Beckett plunged into the icy river. The panic he felt as he frantically searched for her gun. The fear he tried to hold at bay as he counted each second his partner was submerged. The pain he experiences every time he thinks about how differently it could have all turned out. "Actually, how about we eliminate any locations within a mile of the Hudson. And while we're at it anyplace that doesn't have an opening until 2016 is also out."

Beckett relaxed and gave Castle's hand another squeeze. Finding her voice she said, "I think we want something much more intimate anyway. Four hundred is a lot of people."

Although she seemed confused, Sandy didn't ask any questions, and instead dove back into her pile of binders brandishing another one. "Let's see." She flipped through the pages, suddenly exclaiming, "Ah-ha! This will be perfect—simple and sophisticated all in one. I can tell you two have more refined tastes than most." She was sounding less like a wedding planner and more like a car salesman trying to push the latest model. "The Four Seasons Hotel. It's perfect for a smaller wedding without losing any of the glamour."

Beckett picked up the picture, her gaze flitting among the high ceilings, the posh tables adorned with towering centerpieces, and the five-tier wedding cake on display in the center of the room. She tried to imagine Castle and her swaying on the dance floor. Maybe kissing to the sound of clinking champagne glasses. But the harder she tried to make the picture come into focus the more it felt all wrong.

Sandy took Beckett's interest in the brochure as a sign that she liked what she saw and pushed forward. "Now I'm thinking a five-course meal." Caught off guard, Beckett dropped the brochure on the table. "And I know the best pastry chef who can do wonders with fondant; I can make a call to him tomorrow."

"You know…" Castle began, but Sandy was so lost in thought, dreaming up a wedding that was never going to happen, that she didn't hear him.

"Have you looked at dresses yet? You know I can come with you if you like, introduce you to all the best designers. Is your mother in town. We will, of course, want her to come along if she can."

Beckett's face fell flat, and Castle felt her release the grip she had on his hand, her arm hanging limply at her side. His mind raced for the right words to say, but he came up empty, unable to craft a single sentence to convey his regret over Sandy's slip. He watched her quickly push back from the table, her shaky hands fumbling for her coat before she mumbled something that sounded like excuse me and walked out the door.

"Is everything okay?" Sandy asked, concern etched into her features.

"I'm sorry Ms. Schulman, but I don't think my fiancé and I will be using your services." He felt anger rising in his voice, and had to remind himself it was an innocent mistake. "But it was very nice to meet you," he added as he grabbed Beckett's coffee and rushed toward the door leaving Sandy and her pile of binders alone at the table.

Back out on the sidewalk, Beckett turned her back toward the warm glow from inside the café, slinking into the building's shadow. She watched as the dinner rush of pedestrians strolled down the sidewalk, disappearing into the darkness beyond. She willed herself to stay put, to wait for Castle, even though her instincts were telling her to run, to hide, to let the night swallow her up so that she wouldn't have to feel.

She heard Castle approaching before she saw him. The slow, carefully placed steps inching closer, like he was trying to corner a wounded animal. She hated herself for being so weak.

"Kate," he said tentatively. Hearing the worry and the delicacy with which he whispered her name made her tenuous grip on her emotions feel even more fragile. "I'm so sorry." He was now standing in front of her, his strong hands reaching out to help her with the coat buttons her trembling fingers were failing to fasten.

Castle grabbed her hands and steadied them around her cup of coffee, his hands lingering over hers for a moment. She couldn't bring herself to look up into his eyes, even though she could feel him watching her. She was too afraid to see the pity pouring out. The feel of the hot cup in her hands made her acutely aware of just how cold it had gotten and she cursed herself for fleeing the warmth of the café without having a game plan.

"Kate," Castle said again, tilting her chin up so that she was forced to look into his eyes. Instead of seeing the pity she feared though, Castle's face was washed with resolve. "Come with me, I have something I want to show you." He led her back to the car and opened the passenger side door, ignoring the indignant look she gave him. Beckett begrudgingly slid in.

"You do know the guys are going to give us hell if we take too long," she said matter-of-factly, unsure as to what Castle was up to.

"Just buckle-up, let me worry about Ryan and Esposito." Beckett did as she was told.

It was only a minute into the drive and the silence in the car was already amplifying the cacophony of emotions in her head. Hoping to quiet her internal voice, Beckett spoke up, "Rick, I'm sorry I bolted." She let the apology hang in the space between them.

"Kate, you have nothing to apologize for. I should have thought to mention something to her when we spoke earlier. This is all my fault."

"Please don't blame yourself. In fact, let's not place the blame on anyone. It is what it is. I just have to accept that planning this wedding might uncover some wounds I thought had long since healed." Acceptance—it sounded so easy when she said it to Castle. But why didn't it feel that way then?

"Tell me what your mother would have been like as my future mother-in-law." Castle held is breath, wondering if his request was asking too much. But he needed her to be open. He needed her to talk. He needed her to heal—to be the one to help her heal. And as much as they let her mother's death define the course their relationship took, they rarely talked about her life.

Instead of stiffening up like he feared, Beckett relaxed into her seat, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "When I was younger my mom and I would head out to this apple festival every fall," she began, her smile growing bigger as the smell of apple butter flooded her senses. "And each year I would want to enter this apple pie eating contest. I'd sign up, take one look at the much older, and often much larger competition and start to get scared. But my mom was so supportive and encouraging. She made me believe that I had a fighting chance, so I'd take my seat at the table and give it my all."

"And you'd surprise yourself and win?"

Beckett laughed. "Not at all. I'd get beat so bad it was embarrassing. Kids finishing their entire pie and I'm only a few bites in."

"Ouch."

"Exactly. The last year we went I was thirteen. And since that was the cut off age for the contest I knew I had to win. I made sure not to eat anything leading up to the festival, and I somehow ended up finishing a whole pie in five minutes, beating every other kid there. I got my trophy and ribbon, and when I climbed off the stage to show my mom she gave me a big hug and told me she had never been more proud of me."

"How come I've never seen this trophy? Do you still have it?" Castle imagined a dusty box tucked away at her apartment—so many secrets left undiscovered.

"Actually no, I threw up into it so much on the car ride home that my mom and I decided to pitch it the second we walked into the house." She shook her head, amazed at the details her memory held onto. "My mom was like that with every thing I did in life—she was one hundred percent supportive and invested. She pushed me to go after the things I wanted, especially those things that scared me the most." She paused to let the message sink in. "I think she would have loved you Rick. She'd see how happy you make me. How good we are together. She would be proud that after all this time, we made it work and we didn't give up."

"I'm guessing it's not going to be easy though, not having her at our wedding."

Beckett considered his statement, mulling the idea over like she had hundred of time over the past few months. Somehow having Castle as her sounding board brought a sense of clarity to what she was feeling. "I keep thinking about all the things that are going to be great about our wedding day—all the new firsts we'll have together as husband as wife. And in those moments, it's sheer joy. But the second I add the absence of my mom to that equation, the scene is flooded with this overwhelming sorrow and anger, to the point that it overshadows the joy."

"It's bittersweet," Castle offered.

"I suppose. And when I start to think about planning, I begin to realize that no matter how hard I try, I can't plan my mother into the day. And when that realization hits it's somehow like I'm losing her all over again. I know this must all sound silly." She turned her head away, feeling overly exposed.

Castle pulled the car to a stop outside the loft, but Beckett was feeling too raw to ask what they were doing. With the car in park, he turned to face her and reached across the seat, gently rubbing his hand along her shoulder until he felt the muscles relax. He recognized how hard it must have been for Kate to admit these feelings, how vulnerable she must be feeling, but it only made her stronger in his eyes. "Thank you, Kate. For telling me this," he said earnestly. "I know I can't fix it, as much as I want to, but I will always be here for you. Now come on; I have something you need to see."

He led her up to the loft, through the bedroom, and into the back of his closet. Reaching behind all of his suits, be pulled out a single, black garment bag and handed it to her. "I wanted to wait and show you this," his voice was shaking a little, "but I can't think of a better moment than the present."

Beckett examined the bag, her curiosity piqued by the great care Castle took in sliding it off the rack and into her hands. She walked out of the closet and set the bag down on the bed, slowly pulling down the zipper.

"Just so you know," Castle said from behind her, "your dad and I have been working on this together."

When Beckett saw what was in the bag, she instantly felt the air escaping her lungs, like an invisible fist had punched her in the gut. Only instead of feeling pain, the shock sent a warmth rippling across her body, into her cheeks, into her heart. Her eyes brimmed with tears and she turned around to face Castle.

"Is this…" She was lost for words.

Castle spoke up, his own chest beginning to tighten, "Yes. It's your mother's wedding dress. Or at least most of her wedding dress." He walked over to the bed and pulled the gown out from the bag and gently spread it across the bed.

Beckett ran her fingers across the delicate lace accents. Across the subdued floral pattern running the length of the dress. She saw her mom, young, alive, and vibrant, walking down the aisle, the soft material swaying with each step. She touched the dainty sleeves, imagined them dusting her mother's shoulders as she twirled around the dance floor. She could hear her laugh. She could see her smile reflected in her father's eyes. She could smell her perfume lingering in the tiny crystals and beadwork sewn into the bodice.

"I know it can't make up for your mom not being there, but I'm hoping it's a start." Beckett lunged toward Castle and wrapped her arms around him. She buried her face in his chest, her breathing coming out in rapid, broken bursts, and she let herself cry openly. "Kate, if you don't like it you know you don't have to wear it."

Beckett looked up at him, wiping the tears off her cheeks. "No, Castle, I love it. It's perfect." Castle breathed a sign of relief, reinterpreting her tears as joy instead of sorrow. "I don't think I could have found a more perfect dress if I visited every store in all of New York City."

Castle picked the dress up and held it up to her, pointing out the areas where he and Jim had had it altered. Where they added some extra flair, or beading, or lace to make it more modern. "But at it's core, it's your mother's dress," he said.

Placing the dress back into the garment bag, she said, "You know, I've been thinking. Meeting with the planner tonight makes me realize how easy it can be to get so caught up in planning a wedding that you forget to plan the life you want to have when it's all over. I don't want that."

"Me neither," Castle admitted. "Although I want this day to be special for you. I want it to be everything you've always dreamt it would be."

"Rick," she leaned in and peppered his cheek with kisses before holding his gaze, "I'm already looking at the one thing that will make my wedding everything I want it to be."

Castle's smile extended all the way up to his eyes, giving them the familiar twinkle Beckett had grown to love. He knew there would be more grieving to come. He had come to understand that losing a mother was never something you got over. But if enduring those hardships meant getting to spend the rest of his life with the woman smiling up at him, then he could withstand it all.

A/N: In case anyone would like to see the dress I imagined check out my profile. There is a link there that will take you to a picture.

(Slight spoiler) In all seriousness though, any dress besides the poof-ball that Beckett is wearing in the episode stills will be okay with me. That dress is...something else.