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"How are they still talking?" Castle whines, still struggling to uncork the bottle.

Kate wrinkles her nose and ducks her head as her father looks out across the living room towards the kitchen where she and Castle stand. "They're so. . .friendly."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

They're just so. . .friendly.

Kate grabs the bottle and works at it herself, twisting the cork around and around futilely. "Your mom is. . .way, way older than my dad, right?"

Castle stands up straighter and gives her an eyebrow. "You seriously need to keep your voice down."

"No, I mean. Too old for my dad. Way too old-"

"If my mother hears you say that, Beckett, you are dead to her."

Kate closes her mouth, presses her lips together, but she hesitates, can't help one more-

"I mean. My dad isn't on the market. Your mom wouldn't. . ."

"Why isn't your dad on the market?" Castle asks, taking the wine bottle back. "And why are you assuming my mother-"

"Wait. Stop." She holds up a hand and pre-empts that line of questioning, shakes her head. "Forget I said anything."

He narrows his eyes, but then glances over his shoulder back towards the living room, working at the cork slowly. Kate leans around Castle to look as well and his mother is holding court, and her father is-

smiling.

"He's not stuffy," she says, frowning. "He's got a dry sense of humor but he-"

"Are you now putting him back on the market?"

"What?" she startles, jerks her eyes back to him. "No. No. I'm just - no."

She shudders and makes a face, trying not to picture her father on any market.

"You know, we should've learned our lesson from the movie. Meet the Parents 2 did not go over well."

"Oh, I know, right? It was so painful. It wasn't funny to me at all-"

He winces and shakes his head at her; she stops talking and realizes he meant that the second meeting in the second movie didn't go well.

"Hey, it's okay," he says expansively, still working at the wine bottle. "Because we have plenty of other good movies in common."

"And not everything is about the movies. Or. . .a tv show."

"It's not?"

She narrows her eyes at him again, and he backtracks.

"So long as you don't say not everything is about the books, because that would be-"

"Wrong," she finishes.

He nods, a little over-eager. "Wrong."

At that moment, the cork pops free of the wine bottle and they both grin in relief, the same effervescence bubbling up in her chest. She grabs the bottle to keep it steady and then twines her other arm around his neck, and goes in for his grinning, delicious, adorable mouth.

Before it can get out of hand - her dad is right there - Kate pulls back a little, smiling at him, the spark of his eyes and the pleased pride on his face.

"Good job, Castle."

Castle rinses out the casserole dish and loads it into her dishwasher. "Okay, so Meet the Parents 2 wasn't a total failure."

"I'd say it was a success," she says back immediately, glancing over at him with just enough panicky doubt on her face that he hastens to reassure her.

"No, no. You're right. Success. Definitely. I mean, your dad was laughing and my mother was actually serious - twice." A little more familiar ground for Jim Beckett might have helped too - smart of her to insist on having their make-up dinner at her own apartment.

Kate bites her bottom lip, sees the amusement he's trying to rein in, and lets out a little breath. "Yeah. Okay, so my dad can be pretty. . ."

"And my mom really is. . ."

He glances over at her and their eyes meet. It takes a too-long heartbeat, but then she smiles - shyly - and ducks her head. She hands him the last of the plates from the table, takes the one he's just rinsed and loads it herself.

"And really. . .your dad's okay with the wine? I mean-"

"He's used to other people drinking in front of him, Castle. Me, for one. He was fine."

He nods, but he felt seriously uncomfortable bringing it out and serving it, noticeably skipping her father. "It just-"

"Castle. It's not a thing. Don't make it into one."

Ooo-kay. Little testy there, or what?

"Was your mom. . .she went on a lot about my job," Kate says finally. "I know she - I mean - is she still not happy that you're. . ."

"Kate." He glances up from the dishes in the sink to catch her staring off into space, bottom lip tucked between her teeth. "It's not a thing. Don't make it into one."

She turns her head with startled eyes, meets his gaze.

She speaks at the same time he opens his mouth:

"Maybe I should talk to your mother-"

"I don't want to serve alcohol when your father-"

They stop, Kate flushing pink, Castle dropping his eyes to the round red of her bitten lip, stunned all over again.

"Okay, so they're maybe doing a better job of it than we are," Kate says softly, comes in closer to him.

"I doubt it," he replies, circling his arms around her waist even though his hands are soapy, and then he can't help the words that pop out of his mouth next. "We get to have sex. They-"

"Oh, gross. Gross. Please do not finish that sentence." She leans away from him, but he's already got her, and he keeps her against him, their hips meeting flush as she arches back.

"Sorry," he grins. Now not at all sorry.

"Ew."

"She's not that much older than him."

"Oh, yes she is. Like ten years." Kate wrinkles her nose at him. "Oh, that is so gross, Castle."

"Hey now."

She tilts her head, regards him a moment, then a bright laugh pops out of her mouth. "Oh. Oh, no. I meant - no. Not you. And me. No."

He narrows his eyes at her, but she's still giggling, and really, honestly, ten year age difference aside, if you told him yesterday that he would be peeved at her for giggling. . .

"Oh, no?" he questions.

Kate raises a hand between them and strokes her fingers over his eyebrow, her lips that twisted lift of amusement. "Naturally, it's not gross when we do it."

"I would certainly hope not."

"Also, you told me yourself. . .men don't age. They just get more distinguished. And you, Mr. Castle, are quite distinguished."

Is she calling him old? He huffs at her in suspicion, and yes, she's still smirking at him, looking both entirely too pleased and entirely too in control.

But confident again. Not shy, not doubtful, not glancing at her front door as if wondering if this has all been a huge mistake.

Two worlds, but-

the best of both, right here between them.

"I think you're calling me old," he murmurs, coming in closer and brushing his lips across hers. "But that's okay so long as you come to bed with me."

She hums at his cheek, her tongue darting out to touch the seam of his mouth before kissing him slowly. When she nudges him away with her nose, he can barely open his eyes to her, caught in her spell.

"You inviting me into my own bed, Castle?"

"Most definitely. You coming?"

"Up to you."

She's just beginning to fall asleep, drifting on the fine edge of blessed oblivion when he chuckles under her, disrupts her balancing act and sends her tumbling into awareness.

"What?" she groans, turning her head against his chest, lips scraping over his skin, making him gasp. Good. That's what he gets for waking her-

"I just wondered. . .I mean, you took all that trouble to steal a phone, Beckett."

"Password protected piece of-"

"Why didn't you just hotwire the car?"

Kate stills. "Because that's - illegal."

"And busting out a window, stealing the phone wasn't-"

"Shut up."

He gasps under her and grabs her by the shoulders. "Kate Beckett, are you telling me you do not know how to hotwire a car?"

"Shut up."

"Oh. My. G-"

"Shut up."

"I mean, a fine and distinguished officer of the law like yourself surely ought to know-"

"Castle."

"Maybe you should've watched some MacGyver-"

"Richard Castle, shut your mouth if you want it anywhere near me ever again."