A/N: To the guest reviewer who described themselves as a "nit-picky New Yorker" and couldn't understand Castle taking the RFK Bridge back to Manhattan in the previous chapter: if you read chapter 26 again you'll see I decided to set Kate's dad's cabin in Connecticut, rather than Upstate New York.

To quote: "Her dad's cabin is situated a few miles from the coast, between the towns of Fairfield and Bridgeport, Connecticut. It sits in a quiet tract of forest close to Lake Mohegan: a reservoir that is a popular fishing and hunting spot for locals and visitors alike." ENDS

So they weren't in fact coming back from Upstate. Hope that makes it clearer for you.

Okay, on we go...

Chapter 43: Epilogue

Five months later…

"Hey. Done unpacking already?" asks Castle, his voice rising with surprise.

He's drying his hands on a kitchen towel when Kate comes downstairs unexpectedly. An oily rag lies abandoned on the edge of the sink alongside a rusty red oil can and her grandpa's adjustable wrench.

"Furnace is working," he tells her proudly. "And I just put the kettle on. Was gonna bring you up a cup of tea."

Kate groans and then sits down heavily on a stool. "Too restless for tea. How about we take a walk down to the lake?" she asks, giving him a suggestive raise of her eyebrows. "I feel like walking. And I want to see the water."

"You need to take it easy."

"Castle, I'm done taking it easy. And we are having that picnic and taking that skinny dip like I promised," she warns him, spinning the adjuster on the old wrench as she talks.

Castle laughs. "You're so cute and sexy when you're mad. Not to mention a little crazy. You know that?" he whispers, drawing Kate in for a hug.

"You're coddling me, Castle. No coddling. You promised," Kate complains, squirming out of his embrace.

"I crossed my fingers behind my back. So that particular promise is null and void. We can take a walk down to the lake if you like, but skinny dipping is out for a while yet, I'm afraid."

"Get your coat," she grouses, brushing past him to fetch her own outsize fluffy jacket from the easy chair in the corner.

Castle grabs his coat and struggles into it as he pulls the front door closed behind him with one sleeve still dangling down towards the floor. He clomps his way down the cabin's narrow wooden steps, and then he has to run down the path to catch up with Kate, whose long strides carry her closer and closer to the shore in no time.

The air temperature plunged for the first time last night, and there's a hoar frost coating the topmost leaves of the undergrowth. The crystalline layer of glitter that forms this beautifying strata is like a decoration offered up by Mother Nature, meant to cheer and welcome them upon arrival. The ice crystals catch the light as Castle hurries past, glinting and sparking where the sun dances, coating the hem of his black cashmere coat with a frosty beard as he sweeps by.

"Forgot your scarf," puffs Castle, as they near the end of the worn trail and emerge out from the trees and onto the shingled beach.

"Still coddling," mutters Kate, arching one eyebrow. She does however permit her partner to wrap the bright blue wool scarf around her neck and then button up the two sides of her flapping coat, before he finishes up by gently tucking the scarf into her upturned collar.

"Is it coddling if I take your hand to go out on the dock? Boards might be slippery."

Castle's patience seems endless these days, and Kate finds herself pretty much unable to say no to him about anything. She playfully bumps his shoulder now. "No. It's mandatory," she smiles contritely, slipping her cool hand into his warm one before stepping out onto the old wooden pier.

Five months ago…

The news was bad, as Ryan had warned them the day they returned to the precinct from their first trip out to Kate's dad's cabin and sat shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the murder board. They had cradled cups of coffee against their chests that afternoon; coffee to lend them some semblance of normality and comfort, though in truth something far stronger was called for.

In the week and a half that followed, the trail warmed up too fast and hot for them to ignore. A sinister daisy chain of clues surfaced to lead them from Orlando Costas and the Cazadores gang via Vicente Delgado, before looping back around for a second time to train their focus on Marisol Cartagena. The whole thing twisted and turned on a word or a revealing phrase dropped here and there; information wrung out after hours of intense interrogation. They were both hyped, primed and exhausted by it all. Their only solace, at the end of each day, was each other. They spent not a single night apart.

Eventually that daisy chain turned as deadly as razor wire, leading them on a downward spiral that brought them right to the door of Cole Maddox: the same sniper-for-hire who had killed Orlando Costas and had previously attempted to take Kate's life. As they planned their next move, Montgomery's involvement in the whole twisty mess had to remain a secret. Kate was adamant on that one point. Well, that and one other – no backup.

And so it was that, with the boys running interference with Gates and no additional support to speak off, the sniper got the drop on the unwitting partners in a poorly lit hotel room at the Rosslyn Hotel. He knocked Castle clean out with just a couples of surprise blows, disarmed Kate with professional ruthlessness, and then took off running for the rooftop. It wasn't long before the detective recovered and Maddox was being pursued to the top of the building. But what followed was a catalogue of mistakes and misjudgements: shots that missed their target, a blur of a chase on a barren, windswept, overlooked plateau. Unforeseen events turned the error of self-sufficiency, the miscalculation caused by grief, anger and desperation into a scenario where Kate eventually received the beating of her life. The big denouement had finally arrived, thirteen years and four months after the fact, and Kate Beckett was left blinking on the ground like a theatergoer after the house lights went up.

Maddox smiled as he left the detective dangling like a ragdoll off the side of the building. Her sole companion then was terror, her will to survive her only savior, while her cries remained unheard and unheeded for what felt like an eternity. Her strength was giving out, her faith in being rescued all but diluted to nothing by fear, until she called out his name one last time, and Castle finally appeared at the edge of the abyss to save her.

Present day…

They both remember his hands reaching out for hers, even now as they stand out on the far end of the boat dock surrounded by nature instead of the concrete jungle of the city. It happens all the time – outstretched fingers lead to flashbacks and to what might never have been. So much time has passed since that day, so much healing has taken place. But a noise or a flash of light, a nightmare or the mere loving stretch of his hand towards hers, and she is right back on that rooftop as surely as if the last five months hadn't happened.

"No skinny dipping this trip," he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead as a chill wind whips off the water to tug at their clothes. "But how about a bath? Next best thing, I promise," he whispers in her ear, as she squirms against his broad, thickly wrapped chest.

He has to work hard some days to cheer her. But now that he has her - has all of her - it's a pleasure, not a chore, to brighten Kate Beckett's day. He's getting better and better at it, or so he tells himself.

He left a red wooden heart on her desk the day they figured out that Orlando Costas' killer was the man who'd made an attempt on her life. It was meant to remind her of the carved heart containing their initials that remains on the end of the boat dock at her dad's place; on the exact same wooden board where they're standing now. His timing could not have been more perfect. The Post-It note he'd stuck inside the lid of the box had simply said: "I give you my heart." Kate touches it now where it nestles inside a Man Size Kleenex in her coat pocket, polished edges as smooth and curved as—

"How long are we staying out here?" she asks, sweeping over the full swell in the center of the heart with her thumb.

"Winter's coming, so—"

"But you got the furnace working and…"

Kate stops talking in order to look at him, to look properly, to see what he means and what he actually wants when he answers her. She's trying not to take him for granted or to control their relationship in any way. This is one thing about them that's she's been working hardest to achieve – something fair and equal after all they've been through together and after all Castle has endured in the past.

"How about we try a couple of weeks? See how bored you are by then?"

Kate nods, and Castle watches the cloud lift from her eyes.

"Besides, the boys will be desperate to see you back at your desk before too long, and Alexis—"

"Alexis is coming out next weekend," Kate reminds him, ignoring his remark about her work.

She has an answer for everything some days. But Castle doesn't mind because it demonstrates her spirit; that the essence of her 'Kateness' is still there - determined and self-sufficient - however less to the fore it seems these days. It also proves that she hasn't been cowed by the battle she's had to ensure and by the fear of loss and threat that still surrounds them if they get the urge to dig back into her mother's case; if, or maybe when, new evidence should come to light.

Kate fingers the smooth contours of the red wooden heart in her pocket once more, feeling its solidity and warmth. She stares out across the steely-blue water, watching the clouds scudding overhead as they mimic the ripples on the surface of the reservoir like a mirror. She looks down at the old dock, scuffs the toe of her boot over the carved wooden heart at her feet, their initials scored deep for all eternity by her own hand, and then she turns her back on the lake, tugging on Castle's fingers to lead him back to shore.

Five months ago...

The beating she took was brutal: severe bruising over thirty percent of her body, a cracked rib, fractured finger and blunt force injury to her spleen caused by repeated, targeted kicks delivered to her back and side while she was already lying on the ground. This latter, non-penetrating injury was discovered during an abdominal ultrasound used to diagnose the severe pain Kate was experiencing on the left hand side of her body. Several days in hospital followed while she recovered and was monitored for signs of internal bleeding and any other organ damage; a period during which Castle never left her bedside.

When they finally left the hospital together, the writer was sporting the beginnings of a beard, something that seemed to distract and amuse or at least soften Captain Gates' demeanor sufficiently that she ignored Kate's knee-jerk resignation letter, delivered in response to her mandatory suspension for acting recklessly and without backup or the explicit prior knowledge and permission of her command. Gates chose to tuck the letter away in a drawer for safe-keeping instead of filing it with HR, while Kate's bruises faded from purple to green and yellow and frayed tempers calmed over time.

When her abdominal pain worsened and her blood pressure dropped dangerously low a couple of weeks later, Castle rushed her back to the hospital after finding her passed out on the bathroom floor at 3am. A second diagnostic scan went on to reveal a blindsiding fact. She was given the all clear on the splenic contusion and, after a period of watchful (worried) waiting, which included a further two weeks bed rest at home, she was finally given the thumbs-up on her unexpected pregnancy.

Present day…

"You ready for that cup of tea yet?"

"Castle, I want—"

"No," he says sadly, cupping her face in his hands as she stands in the middle of the living area at her dad's cabin looking like a disappointed child. "No coffee for a while, babe. Sorry. You know it's not good for the baby."

"Fine, tea then," she huffs, in what has become an almost daily ritual between them.

She snarks and he soothes and they tell each other it's okay. It is actually all okay, because they're together now, and their child is growing inside of her, and in just four more months they'll get to meet him or her. Even for Castle this thought is like a minor miracle. Kate Beckett is carrying his baby. And yes, it wasn't planned, but he has had so much fun reminding her how he must have knocked her up one of the first times they ever slept together; maybe even the first time. He might be a few years older than her, but his virility, if it ever was, is certainly not in question now.

"You're doing it again," Kate complains, tugging on the front of his coat, a smile already flirting with the corners of her mouth.

"What?" grins Castle, catching the scintilla of a twinkle in her eye.

He might be playing innocent, but he knows exactly what he's doing. He's looking at her body with the burning heat that refuses to leave his gaze whenever he catches sight of her at odd moments – through the plate glass of the shower stall, the outline of her body blurred by the opacity of steam; getting dressed for bed late at night, her breasts already fuller, her abdomen rounder as she shimmies fine cotton shorts up over her thighs; or standing in front of one of the big windows in the loft, aimlessly staring out at the streets of SoHo down below, her mind utterly elsewhere for long minutes at a time while her hand rests comfortingly on the new firmness of her belly.

He loved her body before – its strength, its slenderness, her supple curves, toned muscles and flawless skin. He loves it all the more now that it's changing, and she's allowing him to experience those changes along with her. His only past experience of pregnancy, of being an expectant father, was miserable, right up until the day Alexis actually arrived. Meredith suffered her morning sickness with bad grace, and that should have been a warning to him of what was to come. But her vanity, as her body stretched and grew to accommodate her kicking, thriving infant daughter, was a tantrum too far. Her behavior during those nine months was something that utterly sickened Castle for its selfishness, certainly heralding the beginning of the end of their relationship for him. So to have the exact opposite with Kate, whom he loves far more and knows so much better than he ever did the actress, is a dream come true; the ultimate daddy do-over.

"Make the tea and bring it upstairs. I'll run the bath," she tells him, tugging on his scarf as she presses her cold lips against his eager mouth.

"Yes, ma'am," he grins, turning away to fire up the gas stove. He adds cookies, a pack of Goldfish crackers and a quart of chocolate peanut butter ice cream, along with two spoons, to the tray for good measure.

"Oh, and Castle," Kate adds as an afterthought, leaning over the banister to speak to him. Her face is alight with joy, her cheeks flushed a sensual, ripe pink that he hopes is more about him than the cold wind outside.

"Yeah?"

"Don't take all day," she adds, with a saucy wink.

The End

A/N: I think they're "ready to make nice". ;)

A big, very sincere thank you to every single reader who supported this story along the way. It turned into a much longer journey than I originally intended. I was told recently by someone who I once considered a friend that they'd lost faith in my ability to finish multi-chapter fics, and that they weren't prepared to "invest their time" in my works-in-progress as a result. While that was hurtful, it also made me all the more grateful for each of you who were prepared to take that risk and invest your time in this story, as I have invested a lot of my own time. So, thank you again. Because you're what makes this a worthwhile endeavor. Liv x