They walked back.

He kept his mouth in check. Besides, it wasn't words he wanted to give her. It was something lot more. . .visceral. He used the long walk back to quiet the jangling in his nerves, to still the yammering in his blood, to ride out the cresting wave of his need. He was trying to get it back down to just mere arousal, the lazy and ever-present kind, the usual kind, and not the kick in the guts craving to have her. Have her.

Once he thought maybe he could look at her without his mouth going dry or his heart pounding or his body revolting and doing exactly what it wanted to, Rick Castle reached across the distance between them and took her hand.

He watched the side of her face for answers, but all he could read was confusion. She was holding his hand, had actually squeezed his fingers when he slid his palm to hers, but she was silent. Still.

At the next light, with the 12th in sight, a trickle of dread started winding its way through his innards.

"Kate."

He was still watching her face; he couldn't miss the wince at the sound of her name on his lips. She kept her eyes on the crosswalk sign, not looking at him.

"Kate. Let me take you out tonight."

At that, her eyes darted towards his. "Out?"

"A date."

He saw the corner of her lip edge upward. "Don't you think it's a little bit. . .late for that?"

"No. Not at all. Perfect time for it."

She glanced at him again, then back to the light. It changed suddenly and the crowd was already moving, pushing against them, and he hustled to keep up with her. Her hand was still around his. She did have that Mona Lisa smile ghosting her lips.

The 12th loomed ahead of them, the blood mobile still parked outside, and Kate stopped suddenly, tugging him to the concrete edifice, pulling him out of sight of the lobby.

And his daughter.

"Tonight," she said. Her back was against the concrete, the dark hair and slash of her eyes, the angled line of her jaw like a Roman frieze.

He nodded. "Tonight."

"Okay."

"Okay?" He gave her a mock disappointed pout. "Just okay?"

She sighed, rolling her eyes, but he saw the relief in her shoulders. "Yes, yes, tonight. I'm. . .looking forward to it."

"Liar," he whispered, but he was smiling. "You're terrified."

She huffed and tried to yank her hand away from his. He wouldn't let it go. And she couldn't be trying all that hard; he was pretty sure she had tricks up her sleeve to get away from him if she really wanted to.

"Detective Beckett, you're afraid to go out with me," he grinned.

She shied away from his gaze and set her face against him, back to the marbled beauty, the cold. But she couldn't keep him from seeing her; he'd discovered the Rosetta stone of her body language long ago. She was afraid, but she was eager.

"I'm not afraid. What time?" she said, throwing him a triumphant look.

"What time will your day be over?"

She sighed. "Good point."

"Whenever you're ready to leave for the night, Kate, I'll leave with you."

"But I-" She stopped and shook her head, and he knew. He could see that too.

"You want to dress up for me?" he murmured, and couldn't keep away from her mouth any longer. He brushed a gentle kiss to the delicate arrangement of her features: her pressed lips, her wrinkled nose, her frowning forehead. "I'll admit. I might want to change clothes. Shave. For you."

"You don't have to shave," she said on a rush of breath, her fingers suddenly grazing his chin.

He filed that away for later, memorizing the naked heat in her eyes. Naked heat. Ah, now he was just pathetic. Using his fake character to describe his muse.

She was more alive, more deadly, more poignant; she had depth and substance and breath that he could steal as he kissed her again. She rubbed her jaw against his; she was letting the slight stubble scratch her skin. He waited a beat, breathless, before breaking away from her. She still had her hand against his jaw.

"How about this?" he said roughly, trapping her hand against his cheek and pressing a kiss to her palm.

"I like this," she whispered back.

Where had the playfulness come from? Why had it disappeared? These were the mysteries of Kate Beckett. He might be able to read every line of her eyes, but why they were there, and where they had come from, the authorship - those elements were still wrapped in mist.

"I like this too, but I'm pretty sure you deserve dinner first." He curled his fingers around hers and let some of the need, the want seep through his grip. "Dinner and maybe something. . .special."

"Castle-"

"Nothing too much; I'll figure something out. How about you text me when you leave, to give me a heads up? And then I'll pick you up an hour later."

"You won't. . .come back up with me?"

He wanted to. He wanted to watch her, daydream about what he might do to her later. But he also wanted to let her marinate for awhile, sit in her own expectant anticipation while he planned out the perfect date. And he had Alexis downstairs here.

"I should sit with Alexis, see where I can help. Make up for skipping out on her. But you and me. Later."

She chewed on her lower lip, her back against the concrete of the 12th, his body crowding hers. He waited for her to get it settled in her mind, for her to get used to the idea of seeing him specifically in this light, for her to process the weight of his secret, now shared.

He was ready for it. She seemed. . .willing to participate.

"Okay. I'll. . .yeah." She nodded, and while the underlying anxiety was still in her eyes, the set of her mouth, there wasn't any hesitance.

"Good." He leaned in a little closer, glad for the relative anonymity of this corner of the building. "And Kate?"

She watched him, her eyes not blinking, her chest taking shallow breaths. Castle couldn't resist, kissed the corner of that parted mouth. She tasted rich and entirely too good for him. He left her mouth wanting more, but drew back to look in her eyes.

"Kate."

She let out a soft keen of her breath, her fingers flexing against his hand.

"Wear something sexy."