Dear Cartographical, as always, thank you for all your help. Even if you do yell at me in big capital letters and mock my dorkiness and occasionally threaten things like stabbing me in the eyeball. Which, I will point out, would not actually make me write any faster, so I don't know what you were hoping to accomplish there anyway.

Readers, I wish you could see Carto's editing suggestions. They are 4857468574 times better than anything I could ever write. Also, please go read all her stories and tell her how good they are. It makes her SO UNCOMFORTABLE and it's funny.

Chapter 32: 4x05, Eye Of The Beholder

I don't steal things that belong to someone else.

Kate's holding her breath, preparing herself to watch Castle walk to the elevator with the cool, gorgeous, sexy blonde with no hang-ups and no emotional baggage and no bullet-sized scars hidden under her clothing.

But she walks back into the bullpen to find Castle. By her desk. Without Serena.

Wait.

"You guys didn't go out?"

"No."

"Why?" Not that – she's not – she just –

"Because I can't afford it." He's doing that big teddy bear-ish thing, his chest all puffed up in mock seriousness, and she has to shake off this irrational desire to hug him right now in front of everyone. "The museum just slapped me with a bill for that exhibit I broke…"

He holds out the paper and holy shit that is a lot of digits.

"Whoa."

"I know! You'd think they'd cut me some slack, after the whole helping-to-solve-a-murder thing."

Kate takes the paper, runs her fingers over it as she screws up her nerve and hopes she sounds casual.

"I guess the least the NYPD could do is take you out for a hamburger."

She glances up, biting her lip, holding her breath. It's not much, but it's still dinner. She's still asking him out. She's been trying to do this for days, and she's finally gotten the words out. And if he says yes –

"I accept."

Her heart flips in her chest and pounds in her ears and she has to look away from him. Because she did it. She asked him to dinner. He's beaming and she has to look away from him. He said yes and even though they've done this, they've had dinner a thousand times, it's the first time she's admitted it to herself (it's a date) and there's such a tremendous, shivery sense of triumph thudding through her chest that she feels like right now she could do anything.

Maybe even tell the truth.

It's a lovely night, so they walk. Castle's still musing aloud about putting Alexis through medical school, wondering if she might someday become the first doctor to successfully build a functioning human liver out of avocados. Or penguin feathers. Or moon rocks.

"You laugh, Beckett, but you'll see. She has my looks and my brains. She'll go far."

She shoots him a sideways glance, and the way he's watching her –

Her face gets warm. Castle's watching her with that sweet, shy, warm expression. It makes her think of youth, of sweaty palms and nervous dates and careful handholding and notes stuffed in lockers and it makes her feel lighter, like there's champagne bubbling through her veins, and maybe she shouldn't feel this way about him but she can't help it. He makes her want to smile.

Even when he's an idiot.

Especially then.

(I love you, Kate.)

She shakes her head, tries to get rid of the grin that keeps hovering over her lips. He thinks he's so smooth. But honestly. He couldn't hide it if he tried.

(I love you.)

And it used to hurt so badly, remembering those words. But now, when she thinks of them, she –

"You're smiling."

She bites her lips. "No, I'm not."

"You are. You're smiling."

She tries to glare at him. Tries very hard. Fails. "And so what if I am?"

"I thought we were going to be respectfully grave this evening to acknowledge the fact that I will have to sell my kidneys to put my daughter through school. Have a heart, Beckett."

"It's your own fault." She shrugs. "You could have just said the fist was inside the television. But no. Richard Castle had to make a scene. Had to make a big production of it. Why exactly am I supposed to pity you?"

"First of all, Martha Rodgers' son does not tell people things," he scoffs. "You clearly have no appreciation for drama. And second, I did not realize they would make me pay for that big hunk of garbage. Honestly. Couldn't I just go to a garbage dump, grab a different television, and rebuild it? Would anyone be able to tell?"

"Absolutely." She nods gravely, but she can't stop smiling. "I found that piece inspiring. The – "

"Oh! Look out!"

His arms suddenly slip around her and tug her, and she stumbles, falling against him as a bike flies past on the sidewalk, missing her by inches.

"Sorry."

He doesn't really look sorry. He looks –

Not going there, Kate.

Her hands are pressed against his chest, and she should really pull herself away but his body is just –

Still not going there, Kate.

She opts for sarcasm instead. "It worries me that your instinctive reaction to anything startling is just to grab the nearest woman."

"You didn't complain about it the first time."

She opens her mouth to argue (seriously, she reamed him a new one for it), but then a blush crosses her face. He's not talking about Serena. He's talking about –

- that thing they never talk about.

Ever.

She's suddenly terribly, terribly aware of his arms, still around her waist, and he's not letting go and he's so close and so perfect and –

She swallows, and oh no, she's looking at his mouth, and she should stop looking at his mouth but she can't stop looking at his mouth and she should but she doesn't want to and then suddenly he's kissing her and oh –

Her whole body relaxes into him, and he's so strong and big and warm and his mouth is slow and cautious but she wants it, wants more, wants all of it, and she feels the heavy warmth of his tongue in her mouth and he's nibbling lightly on her lip and she lets this high-pitched sigh escape and his arms tighten around her. She slides her fingers through his hair, silky and thick and soft, and he lets out a low growl of pleasure that sends a hot wave through her body because oh that's his tongue and she wants him so badly that frankly it's a little embarrassing.

They finally break apart for air and it's oddly difficult to breathe. Kate draws a long breath in through her nose. His hand is warm and gentle on her back, holding her close, and she can't help the smile that she's pretty sure might never go away.

"You should smile more."

She looks up and her heart skips a beat. He's watching her with a look she hasn't seen on his face in a long time. It's warm. Sweet. Genuine.

It's unashamedly loving.

Her heart swells up, warm and glowing and bright and too much and she can't stop herself from leaning in again, stealing one more kiss from his eager mouth. His hands come up to cradle her jaw, and someone nearby wolf-whistles at them but she doesn't care because he's a really, really good kisser.

When she opens her eyes, he's still watching her, his eyes bright. He's grinning and she knows she is too. Heat is shimmering through her veins and his hands are skimming over her arms and all she can think is finally.

He clears his throat. "So. Where are you taking me on this date we're on?"

"Date?"

He shoots her a sly look, twines his fingers through hers. "Don't be coy, Detective. I'm not really playing hard to get, here."

She rolls her eyes. "Hard-to-get's never really been your strong suit, Castle."

"For you? Nah." He bumps her arm. "So. Where are you taking me?"

"Like I said. Burger. Why, you watching your figure?"

Castle grins at her cheekily. "Onions. Gotta decide if I want to let you kiss me goodnight."

She bites her lip. Grins back.

"See, I was thinking about kissing you good morning, Castle."