They were at the bar for less than five minutes before the first difference struck him, a barely discernible ache in the corner of his mind; Captain Beckett ordered whiskey and, at a bar like that, Kate definitely would have had a beer with him. At home, in his world – or wherever it was that he currently wasn't – whiskey was reserved for the nights with jagged edges, when either or both of them were angry, sad, or on the wrong side of desperate. They shared it on the nights they needed to feel everything or nothing. But on a casual date at a too-loud pub? Never. Kate would have asked for something she could swig straight from the bottle. It hurt a little to watch Beckett swirl the amber liquid and take a polite sip.

He shook loose the concern and focused on the beautiful woman sitting across the table.

"So, youngest woman to ever make captain. That's impressive."

He figured leading with both a compliment and the familiar subject of the precinct would be safe; it was tricky enough getting her to agree to the date, so he wasn't about to scare her off right away. And he truly wanted to learn more about not-actually-Beckett-Beckett, was inherently interested in every possible incarnation of the woman he loved. But she held tight to her glass and quickly hid an almost-imperceptible frown, reminding him that he'd yet to peel back any of her layers.

It was never too late to start.

So he listened to her describe the boredom and politics that filled her days – months? years? – asking questions even while the answers were hard to hear; he was intimately familiar with Kate's passion for her career, so Captain Beckett's willingness to shrug and dismiss it was a terrible thing to witness. In those first few minutes, he couldn't begin to understand how she could have lost that edge, her eagerness to fight for the victims and right all the wrongs. Then she reached for the ring around her neck, one arguably more important to her than the one he'd placed on her finger in another reality, and he realized the truth just before she spoke it aloud.

"The case that made me want to become a cop, I was never able to solve."

Shit.

There was no response that would adequately console her, platitudes from a stranger likely to offend, if they didn't do actual harm. Additional years of failure had plagued this Beckett, leaving an emptiness he couldn't possibly fill over alcohol and bar food. He considered laying out every detail, condensing years of betrayal and investigative hell into an optimistic suggestion that a familiar family of elephants hold the evidence she needs, but he choked on it, swallowing against the truth that both Kate and her mother believed could conquer all.

His eyes flitted down to the smooth skin that disappeared beneath the black camisole she wore with her suit jacket. Smooth. Unmarred by a sniper's bullet and protecting a heart that had never threatened to give up on her. Then his head snapped up again, a question that had made him distantly curious before, now tumbling out without further thought.

"You had a captain when you were still a detective."

Except that it didn't come out like a question at all, and her skepticism was obvious, unsure about why he was broaching the subject in the first place. "Yes, that's generally how the hierarchy works, Mr. Castle."

"But he was more than just a captain. He was your mentor, a father figure of sorts." Still not a question.

"Yes, Montgomery and I have always been close."

"And still are? Present tense?"

She rolled her eyes, such a natural thing and a taste of home that made him smile. "Well, we don't talk as much now, of course. Since he retired, he's spent a lot of time with his family, travelling with his wife. I try not to drag him back into my world too often. But why are you asking about him?"

He shook his head in response, his decision solidified. There was no way to know what else was different here, whose lives were profoundly better because he hadn't taken it upon himself to look into Johanna Beckett's murder. Perhaps playing an incriminating tape of William Bracken would be an easy way to solve the case and unburden his gorgeous companion. Unfortunately, there was also the possibility that hell would rain down on them in the form of desperate men looking to cover up their own involvement; as far as he knew, Dick Coonan, Hal Lockwood, and so many others were still alive.

The ever-changing hazel of Kate's eyes, bright and breathtaking, had dulled to a cloudy green in Captain Beckett's, but it was better than the light going out entirely.

"I met Roy Montgomery years ago, but it's been a long time since I last saw him. I'd love the chance to catch up with him now." Eager to change the subject, he offered her a smile and said, "I know you enjoyed reading my arrest record. I don't suppose there were pictures of my au natural hot air balloon ride? I could autograph them if you'd like."

It was exactly what they both needed, steering them away from the sadness of her past and into the ridiculousness of his. They spent the next couple of hours falling deeper into conversation, alternatively leaning forward with a curious smile and wide eyes, and settling back into their seats with the quiet hesitation often found on first dates. The familiar cadence of her voice, the bite of her lip, and the tilt of her head were interwoven with a weariness and uncertainty that he wasn't used to at all, and he became even more interested in putting a smile on her face. This Beckett didn't seem to know laughter well, and it was strangely important for him to introduce her to it.

He regaled her with stories of his less-than-innocent past, drawing from the joy in the life he remembered, not the one so steeped in disappointment. There were tales of his many adventures with Alexis, and he couldn't help but beam with pride when he spoke about her, memories of the redhead entertaining them both even as he wondered about the raven-haired young woman visiting from L.A. Then there was Martha, the star of the show even when she wasn't on stage and a topic that easily led them to Kevin Ryan's apparent love of the theatre diva.

Beckett took over from there, slowly opening up to him with the little she was willing to share about past cases and the detectives she considered family. She talked about the ongoing drama between Lanie and Esposito, and the careful balancing act required to maintain her friendship with the M.E. in spite of it all. There was even a brief mention of her father, her obvious love for him laced with regret and what-might-have-beens, even as she insisted that she looked forward to the times they were able to meet for a quick lunch.

Somewhere early in their third round of drinks and just after her teasingly vague description of a case that had involved custom bondage shops, a fetish club, and a dead dominatrix, he found enough courage to reach across the table for her hand, clasping their fingers together and grinning at the way her voice faltered for just a moment. She recovered quickly, masking whatever emotion that might have become and smirking back at him.

"Anyway, back to you. Why did you kill off Derrick Storm?"

"I was bored."

She snorted at that, nothing short of frustrated. And plenty adorable. "You were bored? So you decided to end a lucrative series with no other ideas to fall back on?"

"Well, I…yeah. I guess I hoped I'd find new inspiration." He offered her a wry smile he knew she couldn't possibly understand. "Or that it would find me."

"Do you regret it?"

"No, I don't regret a single word I've written since I finished with Derrick Storm. I couldn't fathom that." Her confusion was clear, his disastrous career a strange thing to defend, but he was mixing up his worlds again and hurriedly continued. "But I'm much more interested in hearing more about you being a huge fan of mine."

"Oh, I don't know about 'huge.' It was one book signing."

"Ah, yes, but uninterested readers rarely get their books signed at all."

She paused for several seconds, and he was about to give her an out when she surprised him. "How about if I tell you all about it while you take me home?"

It was bold and unexpected, but he signaled for the check and rushed to put on his jacket before she changed her mind.

During the cab ride to her apartment, she shared what turned out to be a much more personal story that he would have guessed. He'd been fully prepared to tease her about how nervous she'd been before meeting him, ready with a barrage of questions about whether she'd ever been active on his fansites and if she'd read some of his truly terrible early work. Instead, he learned that she'd turned to his books in the aftermath of her mother's death; overwhelmed by the lack of answers and justice in her real life, she'd embraced fictional victories and the chance for a happy ending.

Of course, he had no idea if he was hearing a legitimate Kate memory or hallucinating a Captain Beckett anecdote, but he felt the desperate urge to hug any version of her within reach and never let go. His mouth opened and closed, words failing him completely, and he was grateful for the cab's abrupt stop in front of Beckett's familiar building.

She led him upstairs and into her apartment; he had to actively fight the desire to leave her by the front door while he inspected every inch of her home, intensely curious about how the butterfly effect had resulted in décor so similar to what he knew, yet just slightly different. It was as though her tastes were the same, but she'd picked up one picture frame over another, this lamp instead of that. And, of course, there were many things she'd owned for years, settled in the spots he'd expected them to be, but just enough was wrong and his balance was thrown.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." Probably a lie, but she had one hand curled around his elbow and the other was holding up a mug for him. "You made coffee?"

She laughed, the carefree sound he'd been chasing all night. "Don't be so surprised. I'm sure I'm not the first person to do that for you."

"Mmmm, well, my relationship with coffee is complicated. But thank you." He took the mug from her and let his eyelids fall for the first sip, imagining for just a moment that he was home. In his real loft. With his real mother and daughter.

Drinking coffee with his real Kate.

He finally lowered the mug, but before he could open his eyes again, she was brushing her lips against his, the kiss quietly optimistic. He returned it without question, following her lead as she encouraged him with a tentative tongue and somehow managing to set the coffee aside as he opened to her. Her moan intoxicated him as surely as the hint of whiskey lingering in her mouth, and her heartbeat lulled him further as it tapped its rhythm against his chest.

Beckett slipped her hands beneath the shoulders of his jacket and pushed it back until it fell down his arms and onto the floor. Their kiss remained tender and warm, imbued with a passion he'd known for years and she'd learned only seconds before. He finally broke away to suck at the sensitive spot just below her ear, smiling into her skin when her knees buckled, then continuing down her neck. Following the line of her collarbone, he dragged the chain of her necklace out of the way and dusted kisses across her chest before coming to a sudden stop. He jerked back, staring down at the place where her scar should have been.

"What's wrong, Rick?" Her voice quivered with the question and she quickly cleared her throat in an attempt to hide it.

"I just-" he started, as he scrubbed a frustrated hand over his face. "I can't do this. I'm sorry."

She bit her lip and nodded, almost as though it were no surprise at all. "Because I'm not her."

He stepped toward her again, ignoring the way she flinched when he pressed the palm of his hand to her cheek. Throughout the evening, he'd watched as the sorrow etched on her face had begun to smooth into something resembling happiness; she'd buried it for years, but it was never far away. Running the pad of his thumb beneath her eye, he only wished he could chase the sadness back from its almost certain return.

"No, you're not her. But you're still-you're incredible. You're amazing. You're exceptional."

"Careful. You're starting to sound like a thesaurus."

Easing himself away from her and kicking at an imaginary spot on the floor, he barked out an uncomfortable laugh. "Yeah, well, it's not always easy to find the perfect word."

She hummed her agreement, then they fell into a shared silence for several moments, broken finally when she bent down to retrieve his jacket. "So, I guess this is it then?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm pretty sure I'll still be at the precinct in the morning to help you solve this case."

She groaned as they walked to the door together, her exasperation replacing the awkwardness from a minute earlier. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure you will be, too."

"Goodnight, Captain."

"Until tomorrow, Mr. Castle." He'd just stepped into the hallway, but he immediately spun around to see her smile. "What? 'Goodnight' is boring. 'Until tomorrow' is more hopeful. And I'm beginning to think I could use a little more of that in my life."

He leaned forward for one last kiss. "Until tomorrow then."