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

She hadn't seen that coming, and has no time to consider his request or even to frame a reasoned response. She looks at his bags. "Rimowa, huh? Never heard of that brand. Is it the suitcase equivalent of a Ferrari?"

"Pretty much."

"What's it made of?"

"Polycarbonate."

"Okay."

Okay what? She thinks he has okay taste in luggage? She approves of the material? What? What the hell is she saying? "Um. Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay. We might not spend all the time here, though. Who knows, we might take a trip. If you don't mind my traveling with a General Motors-like suitcase."

He's so stunned that he stumbles over both bags and lands on his butt in front of the stove.

"You know, Castle, when I said 'take a trip,' I didn't mean that."

Now he's flat-out on the floor, looking up at her, and all he can really register is her smile. That and the fact that she's okay, definitely okay, with him hanging around. "So I can stay?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

"Oh."

"I'd offer to help you get up, but I'm not quite that strong yet."

Rolling on to his side,he pushes himself up so that he's standing close enough to see the faint smattering of freckles on her nose. "You're a lot stronger than you were the first time I saw you in the kitchen, though."

She can't quite look him in the eye for this. "I am," she says, in a voice as soft as the one he'd used when they'd come through the door a few minutes ago. She waits a bit and adds, just as quietly, "Seems like ages ago."

He wonders if she needs him to lighten the mood a little, so he asks, "You saying time drags with me, Beckett?"

"Just the opposite, Castle." Feeling braver, she raises her eyes to his. "Things are so different now."

"They are." He reaches out, takes her hand, kisses her palm, and lets go. "Hey, you got a manicure while we were in the city."

"Thought I needed it. Pedi, too," she points to her sandaled feet. "I went after the doctor's. Good thing I did, since you probably needed the extra time to fill your Ferrari suitcases."

"Rimowa."

"Ferrari to me, now, Castle."

And just like that, balance is restored, and they both know it, even if—especially if—they don't say it out loud.

"Is that my cue to unpack?"

"I believe it is. Don't know if there's enough drawer space in Dad's room for all your stuff. We might have to go to Williams and buy you a bureau."

"I think I'll be able to manage. There's room in the closet, too. I hung my cargo shorts up in there and they looked lonely."

She gives him a tiny push. "Then go give them some company."

He's rolling the suitcases across the living room when he realizes that she's right behind him. "You coming to supervise me?" he asks over his shoulder.

"No, I'm going to take a nap. Hope you don't mind. This trip was a lot more tiring than I expected."

Uh oh. Now he's worried. "Are you all right, Kate? You said the doctor was pleased with your progress."

"I am. She did. It's just—" It takes her a minute to continue. "It was an emotional day, Castle. A lot of mixed emotions. Just need to rest a bit."

"Good. Okay. See you later."

"Right, later."

She closes her bedroom door, changes into a baggy tee shirt, and sits on the edge of her bed. She's not tired. Well, she is, but not sleepy tired. She loves the teasing that she and Castle exchange, but it also exhausts her. And scares her. She's ready for him, she's not ready for him. She wants it desperately, but what if she's not enough for him? Is she enough for him? Forever? Because she wants forever, and maybe when they start down this path she should be operating at full capacity.

Capacity for what?

Capacity for love? She doesn't think so, because to her astonishment she has discovered that her capacity to love him appears to be limitless. Because she loves him more with each meal, joke, story, and conversation. Because—and this is utterly, unfathomably new to her—she loves him in the silences, in the words, fragments, sentences, and paragraphs unspoken. For so long she thought of him as a noisy guy, when in fact he has a profoundly quiet side.

Is it his capacity that unsettles her? That his capacity to love her might not be limitless? That she may not continue to measure up?

Capacity for sex. That worries her. Definitely. Full capacity for sex, without worrying about hurting herself or worse, him worrying about hurting her. She doesn't want to have to hold back, physically. But she's almost there. Lydia Aronson said so.

Ah. Holding back physically. Is that the excuse she's using for holding back emotionally? She needs to keep in mind something else that Lydia had said to her this morning. Kate runs over it and over it and over it before opening the drawer in her nightstand and taking out the small notebook and pen that she keeps there.

"PERMISSION SLIP," she puts at the top, in large, block letters.

Then, underneath, she writes, "Katherine Beckett, I give you my whole-hearted consent to fall in love with Richard Castle, consent to give him your whole heart."

And below that, "Signed, Katherine Beckett, June 30, 2011"

She tears the piece of paper out of the notebook and puts it on the top of the nightstand, anchored by the base of her reading light. And without giving it any thought at all she curls up and goes to sleep.

He's planned and mostly prepared dinner, and before that he'd finished The Brothers Karamazov. How can she still be napping? The trip really must have taken it out of her. Was it going back to the city, making her think about her shooting? Her not wanting to see her friends? Is she emotionally at war with herself about that? He understands her point of view; maybe she's anxious that they won't? This isn't something she should be beating herself up about, shouldn't be. She's been in her room for three hours. She'll never be able to fall asleep tonight if he doesn't wake her up. But what if she's not asleep? What if something's wrong? He'll just tap on her door.

No answer.

Another tap.

Still no answer.

A louder, full-fisted knock.

Nope.

He'd go in, but she might be naked. Or not. You're a resourceful guy, he tells himself, go resource. He walks back to the living room and takes a good look around. Aha! The giant Webster's dictionary, which is wide open on an old-fashioned book stand. He picks it up, hoists it to chest-level, and drops it on the wide-plank pine floor.

The door is still closed but he hears her voice. "Castle! Are you all right?"

"Sorry! Sorry! Knocked over the dictionary." He picks up the book, but waits for her to come into view before he makes a display of returning it to its stand.

"Were you looking something up?"

Oh, shit. How had he not known that she'd ask that? "Oh, yeah, well, 'syzygy.' It's a favorite Scrabble word of mine, although it's almost impossible to have that combination, even with a blank which of course you would have to have since there are only two Y's in Scrabble and syzygy has three." He smiles and hopes he has the demeanor of someone who is telling the truth.

"Why were you looking it up?"

Shit, again. This woman can addle his brain. "Well, believe it or not," and she probably won't, "I've never known how to pronounce it. It loomed up for no reason while I was chopping an onion and I had to satisfy my curiosity. Felt like I couldn't be this ignorant if I were ever going to use the word again."

"You've used it?"

"Once. About a zillion years ago."

"Really. Didn't know you were that old."

"Feeling kind of prehistoric at the moment."

"You mentioned an onion. Is that what we're having for dinner?"

"Yes. But it's not the only thing on the menu."

"I'm relieved to hear it. May I hear what accompanies it? I'm starving, even after that cheeseburger."

"Shoulda had the cherry pie, Beckett. And whipped cream. Particularly that cream."

"So. Dinner?"

"Right. Salad with a lot of greens and some blueberries, and spaghetti with meatballs."

"Meatballs, eh?"

"Oh, yes, a ball that's not come up in our conversations to date."

"Until now. When are we feasting on these… balls?"

"Nine minutes. Just have to do the spaghetti, but the water's boiling and the salad's ready, so we can start on that while the pasta's cooking."

It's a nice dinner with good, aimless talking, but he feels as though something is simmering. He doesn't know what, but at least she's eaten an entire meal, for the first time since he got here, and he's thrilled.

"Returning to the subject of syzygy," she says.

"Did you know how to pronounce that before I said it?"

"Of course."

"What do you mean, 'of course'?"

"I'm interested in the stars, Castle. Didn't you know that?"

"Lot of things I still don't know about you, Kate." He wants to tuck that stray strand of hair behind her ear. Wants to leave brush his fingers across her cheekbone. Wants to caress it. Wants to kiss her. He mentally shakes his head. "You were saying? About syzygy"

"I was saying, do you want to play Scrabble?"

"Of course I want to play Scrabble. I'll clear the table if you'll get the game out."

The game begins in a low-key way, though they are highly competitive players. They've each played twice when she says, "You know what Monday is?"

"It's Monday."

"Duh. I meant that it's the Fourth of July."

"Seriously? I'd lost track. I love how small towns celebrate that holiday. Do they do something special here for the Fourth?"

"Oh, yeah. You'll see. You'll love it." She looks at her tiles. "Hey, would you like some coffee? Because I would."

"Another cue, I think." He pushes back his chair and stands up. "Coffee in a few minutes."

"Thanks, Castle."

As soon as he's in the kitchen, she plays a word. When she sees that the coffee is underway she calls out, "Your turn!"

"I just played."

"So did I. Ninety-eight points."

As he scurries back he says, "What did you do? And it better not be 'syzygy'."

"Nope. An eight-letter word, because I attached it to the O you used in 'video,' and I hit a double letter with my M and had a triple word and got fifty points for using all my letters."

"Put me out of my misery and tell me what you played."

She points to the word that's running down the right-hand edge of the board. "I have to say I think your meatballs inspired me: 'orgasmic'."

TBC

A/N Thank you again. I think they may have crossed the previously unknown Scrabble line.