A/N: I watched 'Squab' for the first time yesterday. Thinking maybe I shouldn't have after this. Post-ep. 5x22 story.

Consider this hiatus boot camp. We're Castle survivors in training. And before you flame me, ask yourselves one question: have I ever let you down?

Chapter 1 – Signposts

"Castle…where we goin'?"

She squirms before she says the words. They've been playing in her mind all day. She asks lightly, nervously, when he kisses her with more passion, more care and attention, than he has in days.

And she hates that this is because of the case, because of Vaughn, because his jealousy got piqued and her head got turned, because he realizes he's been taking her for granted, playing video games with anonymous geeky teens in far off lands instead of paying attention to her when she tries - emphasis on tries - to seduce him. She's never had to work to get his attention in the bedroom before. She's genuinely shocked.

Yeah, she hates that this is because of reasons. Because the effort he's gone to tonight is only because of reasons!

Spontaneity. They used to have that. Couldn't keep their hands off one another in the beginning. And now they're moving on to a new phase in their relationship, and since she's never stayed in one long enough to get to this point, it scares her. It scares her that they might be getting stale and she's not enough to hold his attention anymore. She never wanted sex to become a chore or a duty, she has romantic ideals she swore to herself she would uphold, and now she feels like maybe her expectations were immature, unrealistic or set too high. And let's face it, he has form in this area – two failed marriages and numerous short-lived affairs under his belt – and now they're here, with him arranging to give her a full body massage as if she'd booked into a day spa. Instead of unhooking her bra with one hand, while pulling down her panties with his teeth like he used to the second they fell through the front door together after closing a case.

Her dissatisfaction frustrates her as much as it terrifies her. Because it's manmade. They were bobbing along the river of life just fine until Mr. smooth-as-silk Eric Vaughn appeared on the scene and upended their canoe.

'There's nothing complicated about meeting a woman like you and knowing what to do,' the perceptive, presumptuous jerk had told her, flattering her, setting her mind spinning with questions, all her relationship insecurities bubbling to the surface, as sure as if he'd been sitting in on one of her old therapy sessions with Dr. Burke.

Castle is acting dumb for reasons she has yet to uncover, or he really is blissfully ignorant of the meaning behind her question. Either way, she's had enough. They've reached a bend in the river, a fork in the road, and it's time to pick a path.

He's smoothing down the sheet that's draped over the massage table he hired in especially for her. And what looked like a sweet gesture just a second ago, suddenly looks absurd; like papering over seismic cracks in the San Andreas Fault with rose petals.

"Castle, we need to talk," she tells him, watching the slight hesitation, the stiffening in his posture when he pauses while fussing with the sheet.

"Talk is for later," he tells her, smooth as ever, picking up an expensive bottle of massage oil. "Golden silence and a sensual massage awaits, Miss Beckett," he says, expansively, holding back the sheet.

When Kate doesn't move, he looks momentarily thrown. But then he quickly recovers himself.

"If you'd like to step out of your clothes. Or, if you prefer, your massage therapist would be more than happy to help you out of them," he adds, coming towards her with a saucy quirk of his eyebrow and a predatory grin on his face.

Kate crosses her arms and stares him down.

"What?" he asks, floundering.

"I asked you where we were going a moment ago."

"And I told you into the bedroom," he replies, face feigning innocence that Kate sees right through.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," she challenges.

"Kate, can't this wait?" his very question confirming her suspicions. "The rose petals are wilting and I…this took ages to set up," he adds, weakly, indicating the romantic bedroom scene.

"Castle, in case you weren't paying attention, we've just been tested. Eric Vaughn was sent to test us," she tells him earnestly.

"By whom? God? The universe?" he scoffs, still clinging to the pretense that he doesn't know what she's getting at. "You don't even believe in that stuff," he adds, dismissively.

"Screw what I don't believe in," she bellows, shocking him. "I believed in us, and look what almost happened. Our relationship has just been tested, Castle. So leave the rose petals, and…and the soothing music, and the fragrant oils, and come sit down with me. We need to talk," she says more gently, moderating her voice to control the fear, frustration and anger she's feeling.

She turns to go back into the living room to sit down, only to whirl back around at the sound of his voice.

"You think I don't know we were tested?" he bites back suddenly, gritting his teeth to tamp down his own flash of anger. "I saw that guy for what he was from the outset. And you didn't believe me," he spits, jabbing a finger towards her.

"I…" flounders Kate.

"I told you what his intentions were. But, no. You wouldn't have it. 'A guy like Vaughn can have any woman he wants', you said," he mocks, mimicking Kate's voice. "'Why would he be interested in me?' Have you looked at yourself lately?" he challenges. "Have you? Screw Bar Refaeli," he spits. "Because there's absolutely no contest."

"Castle…" says Kate weakly, hating that this important talk has instantly spiraled into an argument before they even get started.

"I tried to trust you. To give him the benefit of the doubt, and five minutes into this thing you're kissing him?"

"Technically, he kissed me," insists Kate, indignantly.

"Oh, come on. You sound like the old me. Technically?" he sneers. "You can do better than that, Kate."

"He kissed me," she repeats. "I pushed him away. And I told you about it. I could have said nothing, kept it a secret, Castle. But I told you."

"Yeah," he scorns, "only because Ryan forced you to explain why you two were standing so cosy together in front of that window. If that sniper hadn't shot at him at that precise moment you'd have had to spend the night in that suite with him. What then, Kate? Huh? What then?" asks Castle, walking away in an effort to calm down, heading to the drinks cart and a glass of single malt as his quickest route to oblivion.

"Pour me one," says Kate, walking slowly over to the sofa and sinking down onto the leather upholstery with a sigh.

"We were talking about you," she tells Castle quietly. "Right before he kissed me, we were talking about you."

"Comforting to know I was the last thing on your mind right before you puckered up," he says sarcastically, glancing over at her and then turning his back to slosh another finger of Scotch into his own crystal tumbler before pouring one for Kate.

"That's not how it was," she says grimly.

"Oh really? Then why don't you tell me how it was?"

"Castle," she sighs. "Do we have to rehash…?"

"Yes. You know what, I wasn't going to do this. But since you brought it up, yes, I would really like to know just exactly what went on in that hotel suite. You took four years, four goddamn years to kiss me, Kate, and this guy…what? He flashed his bank balance at you, was that it? A billion trumps a few million…"

"How dare you!" spits Kate, fury boiling inside of her, no matter the real guilt she feels over her own part in this.

"How dare I? I'll tell you how. I love you. And I thought you loved me. You finally told me so to my face. Took you a while. But I made allowances. Because I already knew how you felt about me, and while the words meant so much, being with you meant more…"

"Then why don't you show me…?" she interrupts, biting her lip as tears crest her eyelashes. "Why'd you stop showing me, Castle?"

The silence in the room is like a suffocating blanket snuffing out the flickering flame on a votive candle; it's all encompassing, deafening, terrifying.

"I…" he stutters.

"We're getting stale, Rick. And it scares me. I don't want us to be that couple. You know the one. We've laughed at them plenty of times before. Those couples who sit in restaurants watching other people because they have nothing left to say to one another. Or…or they focus all their attention on their cell phones and Blackberries instead of on each other. I don't want that to be us."

"Neither do I. But that's not us, Kate."

"Not yet, maybe. But Patel, the kid in India…? Time was you would have been chasing me to bed, and now I'm having to dance in front of you wearing next to nothing just to get your attention. Do you know how cheap and desperate that made me feel?"

"I know and I said I'm sorry."

"But are you? One massage and you think that fixes everything?"

"I'm trying here."

"You want to know what happened in that hotel room? I felt appreciated. I felt valued, understood."

Castle sits in deathly silence, his fingers gripping the glass of Scotch like it's a life preserver, white-knuckled, while he rides out the rapids of their argument.

"You felt understood. Uh-huh," he nods, simmering. "Share all your secrets with Eric, did you?"

"No," replies Kate, hoarsely. "Of course not."

"Right. So, Eric gets sunny Kate. And I get the Kate I have to tiptoe around for four years. Don't push or she might run, Rick," he says to himself. "Don't tell her you're in love with her, it might scare her off. Don't ever ask what this is between you two because…dammit, she'll just deny it."

"Stop," says Kate, sounding exhausted.

"Stop? Oh, no. I'm just getting started. He understood you, this guy? After five whole minutes? That's some quick study. But then, hey, guy is a billionaire, so I guess that's his superpower – figuring out Katherine Beckett at a stroke," he says, voice full of sarcasm.

"I'm sorry. Okay. I made a mistake. I let my head get turned. But…he asked me if you and I were serious, and I had to ask myself if we were. I had to stop and think for a second before I answered. And you know why? Because we never talk about this stuff," she says, shaking her head. "We've drifted along for the past year, and don't get me wrong, we've had a lovely time, but…"

"Are you kidding me right now?" butts in Castle. "Are we serious?"

"Yes, we never talk…"

"I tried to throw myself in front of bullet for you. And then I spent three months beating myself up that I wasn't quick enough to save you, while you hid yourself away recovering. I have a daughter!" he yells. "I could have been killed…for you. It doesn't get more serious than that, Kate. You of all people should know that."

"I do…I know, and I'm…"

"Yeah, you're sorry. I know. I heard you the first time," he says dismissively, taking another slug of his whiskey.

"I have a daughter and she pitied me. Do you know what that's like? To have your kid look at you as if they're the parent and you're the clueless, love-struck teen?"

"Castle…"

"Kate, I don't know what to tell you. I have spent so long being careful around you, trying not to scare you off, not to push you, minding your feelings, that I just don't know how to do the big stuff anymore," he confesses.

"So, we learn. Together, we learn how to talk this stuff through."

"Cheating is my number one deal breaker, Kate. You know that," he grinds out, thumping a fist against the arm of sofa.

"I…Castle, I didn't cheat on you. I would never…" she says, appalled.

"Really? Because you looked pretty tempted to me. And all it took was a fancy hotel suite, a glass of vintage Champagne and a few pretty words from a good looking stranger."

"Well, congratulations! You just made me sound like a tramp."

When Castle doesn't reply and doesn't move to apologize, Kate gets up and goes into the bedroom taking her glass of Scotch with her. She's tired, and he's just made his feelings abundantly clear. She can't stay here tonight and sleep beside him knowing that he thinks she did or would have cheated on him if she'd had just a little longer alone with Vaughn. She downs her drink, hissing when it burns the back of her throat, and then she places the glass on the nightstand and heads into the bathroom.

When he appears at the door she's finishing up packing a bag.

"Where are you going?" he asks, glass in hand.

"Home," says Kate quietly, taking a deep breath and then brushing past him.

A/N: Okay, hit me with it. I can take it. I'll just be cowering…over there.