The well-loved Remy's date. Because remember: there was hair-twirling.

Carto, as always, you complete me.

Chapter 15: 2x14, The Third Man

…Oh, why not?

After Beckett slaps his hand away the third time he tries to steal a fry from her plate ("Eat your own damn fries, Castle." "But yours taste so much better."), Castle finally decides, well, maybe he should just eat his own damn fries. He watches, fascinated, as she dips a few fries in her shake. She pauses, food halfway to her mouth, brow furrowing as she finds him staring at her. "What?"

"Nothing." He grins. "It's just – it's kinda cute when you do that."

She scowls at him, but just like the rest of this evening, the disapproval in her eyes is gentle, like she knows she should scowl but she doesn't really want to put in the effort. Now that he thinks about it, though, this evening shouldn't really be happening. They've eaten plenty of meals together before, so that's not it. But there's something different tonight, something he can't quite –

Oh my God. We're on a date.

The realization hits him like a bolt of lightning, and he almost drops his burger. She doesn't notice.

I'm dating Kate Beckett.

The thought plasters a grin across his face, and she eyes him suspiciously but he doesn't mind. Because this is a date. And if he'd known all it would take was trying to date a generic blonde, walking out of said date to break into a petstore, getting attacked by a tarantula, and cracking down on a ring of international diamond smugglers and catching a murderer, well, shoot, he'd have done this months ago.

When she dips one of her fries in his shake, he sputters in mock-indignation (of course, he's secretly delighted), but she just shrugs. "Serves you right."

"An eye for an eye? Really?"

"No. A fry for a fry."

He laughs out loud at that, and even she can't hide the upturn of her mouth, the sparkle in her eyes, and yeah. This is definitely a date.

He takes the check despite her protests and then calmly takes her dress bag despite more, and louder, protests. She sighs, but it's late and she seems tired enough that she's not going to fight him too much. So they walk back to the precinct – it's a nice night, and they're both full – and after a minute of comfortable silence, he decides to comment. "So. This is a nice date."

Her head snaps up, eyes wide. "What?"

He grins. "I said, it's a nice date."

Beckett lets out a short laugh. "This is not a date, Castle."

Oh, keep trying. I dare you. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to disagree, Detective." She shoots him a halfhearted glare, but he blithely ignores it. "It successfully fits all common date criteria. Therefore, I will have to classify this as a date."

"No, it's not."

He shifts her dress bag to his left arm, ticking points off on his fingers. "Number one, we had dinner together. Number two, it was in no way a working dinner. Number three, you let me carry your bag. Number four, I paid. So yes. It was a date."

"Oh, that does not count," she protests. "We had dinner because we were hungry. You carried my dress bag because you took it away from me before I could stop you. And you paid because you're a multi-millionaire who won't let me pick up my own check."

"Sorry to burst your bubble, but none of that changes the fact that we're on a nice little date." He bounces on his heels. This is turning out to be the most fun he's had tonight.

"I was coerced."

He shoots her a baleful look. "Really? That's your best argument? Come on. Just say it. It's a date."

"An accidental date."

"Adjectives don't change the heart of the noun, Miss Beckett," he teases, watching delightedly as her cheeks flush a pretty pink. He's got her. "Face it. You're dating Richard Castle."

"I was. I mean, I did. I mean - " She glares at him. "All right. It might have been a date. But it's over."

"No, it's not. I have to walk you to your door."

"You are not – "

"And as usual, I'm going to do it anyway."

He plays it safe, remaining silent for the duration of the ride as they share a cab back to her place. Her agreeing to let him into the cab was a big enough step. He's not going to push it right now. He has the sneaking suspicion that if he tries hard enough, he can get her to throw him out the door. He also doesn't really want to try it tonight.

As the cab turns onto her street and she moves to step out, he tells the driver to wait and starts to follow her out onto the curb. She immediately looks suspicious. "Castle. What are you doing?"

"I clearly remember telling you I was going to walk you to your door."

Beckett sighs, presses her fingertips to her forehead, but to his surprise, doesn't push him back into the car. "Oh, fine."

He beams and tags along at her heels, following her into the building, into the elevator, to her door. She starts digging through her pocket one-handed, and he takes the opportunity to shuffle even closer.

She finally pulls out her key ring, but flinches as she looks up to find him way, way closer than she ever allows him to be without doing him serious bodily harm. She recoils, visibly alarmed. "Okay. This is too close."

"I'm pretty sure I have to kiss you goodnight."

Her eyebrows go up, but then she sees he's serious. "No."

"You fumbled getting your keys," he points out. "That is the international sign for 'Please Kiss Me.'"

"No, it's the international sign for 'I Can't Remember Which Pocket I Put My Keys In.'"

"Oh, Beckett. Don't be shy." She's glaring at him, but there's just enough mirth in the back of her eyes that he doesn't mind, even though one of these days she really might snap and twist his ear right off his head. "It's okay to say you want it."

"Castle." There's a note of warning in her voice.

"It's required."

"Castle." It now sounds more like a threat.

"Don't worry. I'll be gentle."

"No."

"But – "

His next words never make it out, because she drags him closer by his tie and kisses him.

His heart stutters to a halt, because Kate Beckett is kissing him, her mouth warm and teasing. Her hand slides behind his shoulder, her soft, slender fingers toying lazily with the hair on the nape of his neck, sending tingles through his skin. Her tongue slides easily over the line of his lips, prodding them gently apart, and holy shit, her tongue is in his mouth and right now he wants nothing more than to push her up against the wall and slide his hands under that sweater and –

She pulls back without warning, leaving him blinking owlishly. He stares, trying to form words, a phrase, an interjection, something, but only comes up with "Uh – "

She just smirks, an evil little grin. She's pleased with herself. He doesn't think he's ever been so effectively shut up in his life. He tries to say something, but she presses a finger to his lips. "Shhh." He freezes, mesmerized by the warmth of her skin and the way her hair curls around her face and the limpid, dancing mischief in her eyes.

"Goodnight, Castle."

Her bedroom voice. Soft and breathy and low and oh, Kate – she needs to not do this anymore. He'll never be able to function.

…Well, no. She needs to do this every day.

The door shuts behind her laughing face, and he stands there staring at it for a few seconds before he remembers that the cab is still waiting for him downstairs.

He's got an idiot grin on his face for the entire ride home because she kissed him. She actually kissed him goodnight. Oh God, did she do it well. And as he walks back into his building, heading for the elevator, his phone buzzes.

Not the worst date I've ever had. See you tomorrow.