Disclaimer: These are ABC/AWM's characters, but they danced with me anyway- even if only for a little while.

The dance floor is packed by now, couples spilling over into the bar area where the champagne and Guinness are flowing freely. Kevin and Jenny make their way around the ballroom hand in hand to greet their guests, exchanging laughter amidst clinks of barware and echoing shouts of "Sláinte!" before disappearing out of view into the ring of the O'Malley klan, most of whom have made the trip from Ireland to toast their youngest American relative and her new husband.

Castle sways to the music, hoping the lovely woman in his arms doesn't notice how distracted he is. His eyes roam to the table where he and Kate had sat not an hour ago for dinner. He breathes in deeply, expanding his chest in an attempt to hide how his shoulders sag when he see that her wrap is missing from the back of the chair where he draped it after helping to slide it off her impossibly soft shoulders.

His fingers remember the seductive warmth of her skin and they clench involuntarily at the mere thought of touching her in any way again. Immediately he hears the questioning tone in his dance partner's voice as he realizes that he's gripping her hand a little too tightly. He reassures her with a charismatic smile, seeing the color instantly rise to her cheeks. He has perfected this particular brand of smile, a diversion really, one that he reserves mostly for his book signings and for the random fan that approaches him on the street or in a coffee shop. It's not what you'd call a genuine expression, but it's familiar, warm and it does the trick in a pinch. Before she has a chance to say anything more, he pulls the petite O'Malley cousin into a swift 180 degree turn, his sole purpose to get a better view of the bar and the other side of the room in hopes of locating the only woman he truly wanted to dance with tonight.

When the song finally ends, he accepts a kiss on the cheek from his oblivious partner before heading towards the champagne bar. He accepts a sugar-rimmed flute from the bartender, eyeing the glass skeptically. A tiny sunken-raspberry sprouts fountains of bubbles from the bottom, and he hesitates as the glass meets his lips. The dry sweetness of the sugar seeps directly into his bloodstream, and he considers that this drink is a bit girly, even for him, but he tips the glass back anyway- at this point he doesn't really care. He needs the dulling tonic to dampen the pangs of longing in his belly. He continues to scan the room for her, sipping too quickly from the glass. The effervescence floods the back of his throat and his nose stings sharply with both the crisp tartness of the alcohol and the realization that he has been playing everything all wrong on his pseudo-date with Kate Beckett tonight.

He knows he has been a fairly subpar date by most standards, even for a platonic "plus one," but in his defense, he had never intended to be even that to her tonight. But he should've known better. Intent and what transpires are two different things when it comes to their relationship. She had proven that from the beginning tonight, muddling with his strategy as soon as she'd appeared in his line of sight, floating down the stairs at the church looking so completely carefree- eyes all dazzling, lips all smiling. Was this all for him? No, no- it wasn't for him, he had told himself. It was just the festivities of the wedding causing her skin to glow from within, radiant with an energy that made him want to smooth his thumb across her cheek to assure himself that she was real. He quickly realized that he hadn't been prepared for tonight, the flood of emotion and reflection that a wedding would bring. And she hadn't even given him a chance to regroup after her entrance, knocking him on his heels again with her seemingly casual words followed by a chaste squeeze of his hand as he'd guided her down the aisle before the ceremony.

"Maybe we can be each other's plus one."

She said it as a statement but all it had done was conjure up questions- huge questions- in his mind. He had still tried to stick to his guns though, tried to dismiss that tonight would mean anything more than two friends sharing each other's company.

"Yea-"

Somehow he had managed to sound just as nonchalant even as the adrenaline had made his mouth bone dry.

"And then avoid the stigma of sitting at the single's table. Yes, that would be nice..."

Truthfully, he had wanted to focus on the wedding tonight, on Jenny and Ryan, not worry about where things stood with Kate. All he knows for sure is that it's way more than "complicated" and it has been for awhile now. He has been more cautious around her since the summer, trying to balance his affection for her with the secret he keeps- his desire to protect her. He's been unable to act on either to this point, so both stay caged within him, gnawing continuously, at times making him feel raw on the inside.

And sitting next to her during the ceremony hadn't helped anything. Her proximity had steadily chipped away at his already shaky resolve to keep his feelings in check. He had struggled to focus, inhaling her perfume, the scent somehow heightened by the earthy tones of burning wax floating from the altar. His mind quickly became completely absorbed in every nuance of her body movements, every expression that crossed her face at the scene before them.

And then she had gone and touched him.

It came during the readings. One of her hands which had remained so innocently clasped in her lap somehow made its way to the small slit of polished wood separating their bodies just as Paul's familiar words were spoken:

"...and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing..."

Her pinky finger had grazed against his slacks then, almost imperceptibly, and had his nerves not been so hyperaware of her presence, he wouldn't have given it a second thought. He would have assumed she was just adjusting herself against the unforgiving seat of the pew. He had told himself not to look at her, to just focus on the words of the ceremony, but that had only made it more difficult.

"But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part will be done away."

And then her fingers nudged his leg again and he had finally given in, turning his head slightly to face her. He'd caught her eyes glancing sideways at him for a split second, a flicker of a smile gracing her cheeks before pulling her hand back onto her lap.

He had continued to watch her through the rest of the reading- eyelids veiling her gaze, lips moving subtly to the cadence of the words, reciting the verse in a private prayer.

"For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known."

He remembers thinking it only fitting that she should know this part of Corinthians by heart. She had described her relationship issues as a wall, but to him it's always been more of an imperfect mirror, shards glued back together haphazardly after her mother's death. It distorts her entire world- harsh angles playing tricks, making her see things that are not there, creating blind spots in her heart. And he has stood by her over the years, as she stares into it almost blindly, obsessed with making sense out of the fractured mess. Even after all this time, he's certain he only catches glimpses of what she sees, of how she sees herself. He so desperately wants to believe he can fix the glass around her, make it smooth and true, change her perspective on everything- the way she has with him. He wants to believe there is something magical for them on this side of the looking glass, that he can keep her here, somehow make her happy. He wants to believe he can do it all without revealing his secret. He wants to believe he can do these things for her. He has to believe, even in impossible things.

When the ceremony concluded, he had purposefully lost track of her for a few minutes as the guests milled outside the church waiting on taxis. After sitting next to her for almost ninety minutes (and surviving several more near-brushes of her body against his, however innocent they may have been), everything that is male in him had been bursting to steal her into the farthest corner of the church and tell her he's tired of it all- the unsaid words, this to-and-fro game that they continue to play. He wanted to tell her that although he's been trying to respect her heart-felt message on the swings all those months ago, he can't do it anymore- he can't wait, can't lie anymore and pretend that it's not driving him mad.

But instead of talking to her, he had simply watched as she glided through the crowd snapping pictures of the wedding party. She'd seemed so happy, and that's truly all he wants. He knows that considering all they've been through, their relationship really is in a good place, that he should appreciate what he has been given. More and more he fears that when he finally comes clean, tells her how he feels (again) and eventually admits what he's been keeping from her, that they might not make it, she might cut him out for good. So when she finally found her way back to him outside the church, looping an arm around his elbow as they walked to his car, he'd swallowed his feelings for what felt like the thousandth time since her shooting. Just keep the status quo. Not yet. Just friends.

But now as he scans the crowd of happy couples, downing the last sips of champagne and Chambord, drunken-raspberry and all, he feels conflicted once again. All that he has done, has hidden from her, has been to protect her future, no, their future- the one which he has invented and reinvented in his mind. Secret or not, what they're on the verge of is so real and powerful, to think about it hurts and heals him all at once.

He has dreamt about loving someone like this, read about it, even tried to write about it a handful of times, but he realizes now that was an utterly pointless exercise. You can't write what you don't know, and she was right all along: before her, he had no idea. And now he finally does. He knows them, knows himself better than he ever did without her. He knows every time she smiles, laughs, frowns, and the few times he has seen her cry, feeling his own body shudder with her pain, that's when he's completely certain he would do anything, be anything she wants him to be.

The alcohol is getting to him now and he sets the glass down, shoving away from the bar to navigate through the crowd. He needs some air, needs to think. He walks to the door that leads to the expansive outdoor terrace, shoving his hands in his pant pockets as he steps through and acclimates to the cold. Although it's unseasonably warm for January in New York, the air still nips at his ears and nose, his breath casting white shadows onto the darkness as he exhales his frustration into the night.

He stops, startled by something that catches the corner of his vision. His heart lunges unexpectedly against his ribs as his eyes adjust to the darkness. He didn't expect to find anyone out here, but as he turns and walks towards the railing, there she is, impressive and understated all at once, her grey dress outlining every curve he has come to want. Her hips lean against the stone railing, arms clenched around her center, pulling the black wrap tighter as she tries to stave off the bite of the wind whipping through the corridor of skyscrapers that section off the midnight sky. She is so still she almost blends into the night, and he might not have seen her at all had it not been for her auburn curls catching the twinkle of white decorative lights hanging above them.

That which is perfect...

"See anything interesting?" he says, breaking the silence as he approaches her side.

He props himself against the railing next to her, sleeve brushing against her arms ripe with goosebumps from the chilly air. She curves her lips into a smile, tilting her head towards the sky and unknowingly taunting him with the pulse point in her neck. He half chokes- half coughs at the exposed skin. He wants to kiss her there already, right where the shadow of her jaw meets the plane of her neck. Keeping her at arms length these last few months has been a huge mistake and he wants to make up for it all at once.

"Just taking in the city. It's peaceful up here, you know?"

"Yea, suppose it is," he agrees, completely captivated by the smile toying with her lips. He's not sure if she's smiling because of him or for some other reason, but he doesn't really care as long as she keeps doing it. "Until you look down and see all the chaos below."

She drops her eyes to the flash of lights and noise clambering up the side of the building from the streets some 20 stories beneath them. "But it's still so beautiful."

She steals his words.

He can't help but think the exact same thing of her as the wind tousles her hair, framing her face in haphazard whorls. She suddenly leverages her upper body up over the railing with her hands to gain a better view, but the way she teeters forward on the brickwork is too much and he reflexively catches her elbow in his hand to keep her from tumbling over.

"Whoa there."

"Relax, Castle. I wasn't going to jump." Her voice is light and free as she turns towards him slowly, avoiding his eyes. She's clearly regained her balance as she floats back down on her heels, yet her shoulders still tilt towards him, the delicate weight of her arm sinking into his grasp. He just stands there for a moment, gripping her arm in silence. He holds onto her because he can't let go, not now, and probably not ever.

"We never did get to dance," he finally says, his fingers sliding down her forearm to her wrist, stopping at her palm for a quick squeeze before he reluctantly drops her hand.

"Well, you never asked me, did you? Almost felt like you were avoiding me or something..." Her eyebrow delivers an accusatory quirk, followed quickly by a smile.

"Avoiding you? Never." He laughs nervously because it's true to an extent. All these months, he's used her wishes as an excuse not to have the inevitable conversation that they must have- how he feels, how she feels, where they're headed... what he knows about her mother's case that she doesn't. He has used the mirror to his advantage, angling it so she sees what he wants her to see, and he's realizing that he can't do that to her for much longer.

She grins at how serious his face has suddenly become. "I'm kidding, Castle. I saw your dance card was pretty full- all those red-heads lined up to dance in your arms. You've had a tough, tough night." She narrows her gaze sarcastically at the end- playing with him now, and he loves her even more for it.

"I know, right? I needed a stick. I had no idea Jenny had so many sisters and cousins and that they were all Nikki Heat fans." She takes a step closer, fingers adjusting the petals on his white orchid boutonniere absently as he talks. He searches her face as she pretends to be charmed by the flower, and he's rather pleased to see that there is a hint of regret and maybe even a little jealousy beneath the surface.

"I was going to make it a point to dance with you off the bat, but then I saw your choice of shoes-" He chances putting some space between them, stepping back a few feet to cast a disapproving look at her four-inch heels. "I had second thoughts. I mean, one misstep and you could do some serious damage to a guy's foot."

"Ha. I'll have you know that I'm a very good dancer." His heart trips then as she takes one long step forward. She's standing toe-to-toe with him, mere inches away as she so often does when they have their fake quarrels. Now he feels like the one with two-left feet, or more accurately two-left hands as he suddenly can't find a place to put his as she hovers near him. He finally settles on her waist- high enough so as not to be considered lewd, but still low enough that it feels like he has some claim to her.

"I know you are." He drifts closer into her personal space so their bodies meet and he rests his cheek on hers, whispering into her ear, "I remember."

And he's not quite sure but he thinks she sucks in a breath of surprise before he leans back, removing his hands before she gets any closer, before he completely loses it.

"You do?" Her lips get caught somewhere between knowing smile and seductive grin causing his throat to constrict, and even though he coughs to try and clear away the thickness that has suddenly taken hold of his tongue, his voice still comes out all gravely and way too full of longing.

"Yes, of course I do, Kate- and I'd very much like to dance with you again," he offers sincerely. He extends a hand to her, hoping that the shadows hide the way it wavers a bit as he awaits her response.

"Here? But there's no music..." Her voice is questioning even as she accepts his invitation, his fingers folding over hers neat and secure.

"Oh, I've got that covered." He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his phone, quickly scrolling to a playlist full of slow songs he keeps for when he wants to unwind. He hits "play" and slips it back into his breast pocket just as the first notes of a soulful violin solo fill the air.

Her body slowly relaxes under his hands as they shift their weight to the rhythm of the music, and he's taken aback by just how comfortable she seems in his arms, how natural it all is.

"You really are a good dancer, but I'm glad to see you're letting me lead for once. Does this mean I'll maybe get to drive the squad car-"

"Don't push your luck tonight, Castle," she chides gently.

He pauses, considering his words. "I believe I already have, Kate." His arms bring her in closer then, and he can't help but grin at her lack of resistance- almost verging on acceptance now.

They're so close that he can feel her heartbeat through his shirt and, unlike his own, it's surprisingly even and steady. He reminds himself that she's a cop, trained to keep cool in unfamiliar situations. It probably takes more than a slow-dance to get her heart racing. Still, he wonders if that's all this is to her. Is this just a dance among friends? Because it's certainly so much more for him. The thoughts have barely formed in his mind when he feels her hands shifting from his shoulders. He thinks that he's probably crossed the line, that she's going to excuse herself, go back inside, but no- she's pulling him closer- if that's even possible. One hand slips over his shoulder, and her chin comes to rest on the other. Then her fingers are pressing into his neck, holding him to her, and he seriously thinks his poor heart might stop right then and there.

He exhales slowly, trying to focus on the beat of the music and not how perfectly her curves fit against him, not how she's humming the tune and how the vibrations travel from her chest straight into his heart. She's never been this close to him for this long- unless you count the time he held her in the freezer, barely clinging to life. But he doesn't count that awful day because she was cold, small, hardly breathing. And right now she is warm, so vibrant and rich- surrounding him and making him feel alive.

He turns her a bit too quickly but she manages to follow his steps smoothly, muttering a joke about how he better 'watch his toes.' He smiles. He loves her like this- he loves her period.

"I found a dream that I could speak to..."

The wind has calmed now and all that's left is the music wrapping around their bodies, the timbre of violin strings and drum beats weaving through their beings, cinching them closer with each step.

"A dream that I can call my own..."

Her temple rests against his now and he tilts his cheek into hers. Her lashes sweep lightly across his skin-just once- and he knows her eyes are closed, knows that she is as completely lost as he is in the music, in them.

"A thrill that I have never known..."

He sways their torsos back and forth playfully to the swing of the violins, eliciting a crinkled laugh against his ear, then slows their movements as she tucks her head against his shoulder. He allows his fingers to traipse across the fabric of her dress, moving up to hug the curve of her back just as a sigh of contentment escapes them both.

"And here we are in heaven...and you are mine..."

The song trails off until there is silence, but he continues to hold her- close and still, unwilling for their dance to end, unwilling to let her go just yet. Their embrace feels less like one practiced by dancers and more like one shared by lovers as they stand rocking gently, almost melded together.

With the music gone, Castle's brain soon starts churning again. He wonders what she must be thinking and more importantly- what is he thinking? Then her fingers graze against the back of his neck and seconds later they are kneading into his scalp and he quickly realizes that he isn't thinking, he can't think, not with the way she's touching him.

His mouth angles to her neck, lips brushing tentatively against her skin, and then he feels it- a ripple of energy against him as she trembles in his arms. She's so much more fragile in that moment than he could've ever imagined possible. But she doesn't pull away, so he risks passing his lips across her skin again, feeling the same energy zip through her once again.

"Castle. Please..." There is an air of cautious wanting in her voice. He doesn't wait for her to finish.

"What are we doing, Kate?" he unwraps himself from her grip, searching out her face.

"I don't know- dancing I thought," she answers simply. There's no sarcasm in her voice, but there is a bit of defiance, and he fully expects her to break apart from him then. But instead she squeezes him back to her tightly, her voice slightly muffled as she buries her face against his shoulder. "Rick, not now. Let's just forget-"

"No, I can't- I'm not forgetting anything. We need to talk." He braces himself for her objection, but instead she lifts her head and meets his gaze, waiting for him to continue.

"Okay," she answers softly.

He swallows, buying himself half a second. He hadn't expected her to just agree with him like this and he suddenly doesn't know where to begin.

"Kate...I care about you, and by now you have to know that all I want is what's best for you. And of course, selfishly, I hope that what's best for you includes me, but even if it doesn't, I'm here because I'll always care for you, Kate. I hope you know that, I'm not here for any other reason than the fact that I-"

She leans in towards him with a grin, her fingers tracing his jawline tenderly, apparently very touched by his ramblings of affection.

"Shh, Rick. I know. You don't have to explain yourself to me." Her touch sends a jolt through his chest and his eyes slam shut. He can't look at her and say all that he needs to say. The rest- it's too painful.

"But I need to say it, Kate. I have to say it: I want us to be together. I want to be there for you, as more than a partner, more than a friend." His voice is a whisper now as he feels her thumb trace where the fullness of his cheek meets the the paper-thin skin under his eye. He finds her wrist, guiding her hand away, trying to focus. He knows being with her can't include secrets or half-truths, especially not when it comes to her mother's case.

"Kate-"

His throat aches. He has to tell her the truth before this goes any further. He opens his eyes to look at her.

"But, more than anything, anything, I don't want you to hurt. I want you to be happy. So if it turns out we can't be together, for whatever reason, if we're not right for each other-" his words come out in hot plumes in the dark, his emotions burning through him.

She leans into him now, her cheek pressing hard against his, her lips hushed against his ear as she shakes her head. "We could never be anything other than right, Rick."

She steps back then, a tiny smile breaking the line of her lips- instant, natural, perfect.

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. I'd say we've done pretty well up to this point, haven't we? Writer and muse, partners at work, and now-" Her eyes float to his face, holding him captive. "Friends, best friends-" Her brow furrows a little, reconsidering. "And so much more than that..."

His heart breaks a little, finally hearing what she feels for him. It's like he's seeing her for the first time in that moment. She's not a cop or a victim. There are no whispers of secrets, no unsolved murders, no obtrusive walls or mirrors to get in the way- it's just the woman he loves, just them. The gnawing secret is still there, but the pain is dulled considerably by the way she's smiling at him. He knows someday soon he will have to tell her the rest of what's inside of him, but he just can't, not now.

Not today.

He tells himself this as he'd told her when she first came back to the precinct after the shooting.

Not today.

Not when she's looking at him like she is in this moment- completely expectant and hopeful, and not when she feels like this in his arms.

Before he can think it over anymore, her lips float to his cheek, trail to the corner of his mouth. "I'm almost there with you, Rick. I want to be so badly." Her head turns another half inch and then her lips are finally against his, barely touching him at all really, but it's by far the most sensual thing he's ever experienced. She nibbles a bit at his lower lip before finally bringing her mouth flush against his, only for a second, and then it is all over much too quickly.

"I just need a little more time, to finish sorting it all out." There is a hint of desperation, pleading to her voice, and then her lips get lost in the warmth of his neck.

He nods his head in agreement. He's going to need time too.

As he wraps his arms around her, feeling her do the same, all he can pray is that he'll be able to sort out this mess before she does.

And then, maybe then, they can finally be together, completely.

I wrote this mainly because: a) I wanted to explore more of what Castle must be feeling/thinking about keeping things from Beckett regarding her mother's case and b) I wanted to see them get a damn dance in at Ryan's wedding. :)

I'll be interested to see how the show actually addresses the "secrets" aspect through the rest of the season. It's not gonna be pretty when the truth comes out, of that I'm fairly certain.

Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts. Happy reading. -KB :)

P.S. The song Castle picked for their dance is Etta James' "At Last." Castle is such a sly devil. ;)