Authors note at the end

"I thought we agreed we weren't going to speak of it again tonight?" Kate spoke to Castle's bent head as he rested it on the table between them. They were seated in one of a half dozen booths along the walls of the little Italian place her partner had ushered her into for the long awaited dinner. And it was, she had to admit, worth the wait. The restaurant was stunning. The walls were a warm exposed ochre brick; the tables draped in fine white cloth with beautiful rose-tinted cracked-glass candlelit orbs as centrepieces; and the booth seats were upholstered with rich red leather. Couples were spotted throughout the room, all dressed for an evening on the town, and a group of business men lounged in another booth at the far end of the room. Towards the back of the restaurant, near what looked like an incredibly high-end bar, two elegantly suited musicians were fiddling with their classical guitars as they took a break from their performance.

It was... Incredible. Elegant. And it had made her instantly uncomfortable. Because aside from suddenly feeling horribly underdressed in her biker boots and leather jacket, as she entered the door she had been struck with how it was all so -

It was very -

And just -

He knew this wasn't a date, didn't he?

"I know!" Castle had been at her back as they opened the door, his breath heated against the chilled skin of her cheek; as he totally misread her hesitation. "Amazing, isn't it? And the best part: they don't know who I am. Or they don't care. Either way, it's perfect for this evening."

Before Kate could react to that series of statements, there was a young waiter in front of them and they were lead to a table, and she promptly excused herself to head for the equally tasteful restroom. Digging around for some lipstick she kept for work emergencies, she did her best with damage control from both the evening breeze and a long day on the job.

Why hadn't she anticipated Castle's expensive tastes?

She returned to their booth, ignoring the group of businessmen as they watched her pass by with drink fuelled stares. Back at their table, she found that water and menus had been delivered. And Castle was in the throes of some - thing - as he thumbed his cellphone to break whatever connection he had just finished with, laid the object on the table, and groaned to himself.

She sat down, frowned at him and asked the obvious: " Everything ok? Alexis, Martha -."

"Yes, yes they are fine. Alexis just texted." There was an edge of a whine in his voice through the reassurances, "But, I'm doomed."

"OK, I'll bite: why are you doomed? Harry called you didn't he?" she prompted when all he did was continue to frown.

"Not Harry, Darcy," Castle admitted. "Harry has - He's going to -" And that was when she watched her partner tip forward until his forehead was touching the table. He rolled it from side to side in miserable denial, and she quickly moved to shift first his cell, and then the little glass jar containing the lit candle before he set fire to the table, or himself. Oh, Castle... "Hey!" She reached over and tapped his head, rising exasperation making it a little easier to ignore the softness of his hair still cool from the chilly night air. Her partner rolled his head to one side and cracked open an eye to look at her. "I thought we agreed we weren't going to speak of it again tonight?" she prompted.

"Not speaking, just dying quietly in dignified silence." He let out a low tragic moan and rolled back face down.

"Castle," Kate frowned at his theatrics. "I wouldn't call what you are doing dignified - or silent." He didn't hear her and she let it pass.

"Oh," her partner moaned again, then sat up with a wince, hand fleetingly gripping his side before he slumped back in his seat. "He's going to call Marion."

"Harry's going to call his... wife?" she guessed, and frowned at him: this was going too far. The world was not coming to an end. "Come on, Castle. Don't you think you are over reacting?"

"Overreacting?" her partner barked, incredulous, as if he couldn't fathom how she did not understand. His ridiculous utter bafflement was suddenly a red rag to a bull. Having Richard Castle, King of Pulling Pigtails, on the back foot was always just too tempting to let lie. Even now.

"Yes. Over-re-acting. On one level, yes, it was totally mortifying, but," she looked at him, a smirk playing on her lips as she cast out her bait, "it was also rather sweet."

"Sweet? Sweet!" Castle gaped at her, his famous language skills suddenly reduced to repeating whatever word she said last.

"Oh, come on Castle," she was enjoying getting under his skin, and watching him take hook was doing wonders for her anxiety. "Clearly you are traumatised right now, but it was sweet. You and Harry are obviously close and he cares about you; I am sure you can just explain things to him. You must have had to do this before. I don't see what the problem -" she suddenly remembered Harry's words: this is the good news, isn't it? Wait a minute. Is that why he was over reacting? "Wait. Why would Harry be so certain we were together in the first place? Castle, what have you been telling him?"

"Well, not that, obviously. I am not suicidal!"

"So, why would he think we were together?"

"I- " Castle started, eyes widened suddenly, then skittered around the table before finding Kate's face again. Was that guilt in his eyes? "Harry is a romantic," her partner said after a moment, the statement slipping out with the inflection of a question. Then he rallied - "How do you think Darcy got his name?"

"You're kidding!" Kate blinked, distracted suddenly remembering the Pride and Prejudice quote Harry had recited, and she made the connection: Mister Darcy, the hero of that famous Austin novel.

"Nope," her partner shook his head. "And he's lucky Darcy is his first name. Harry was going to call him Mister Darcy before I managed to talk him out of it," Castle nodded, lips quirking. "I took Harry with me to the library a month or so after we met and the librarian showed him their Austin collection. It was love at first sight. I was so disappointed. Mrs Smythe nabbed us before I could get him to Crime and Mystery."

Kate shook her head at him, imagining a little brown haired boy with startling blue eyes pulling on the hand of a man that smelled like hamburger grease and cleaner and was clearly not his biological father; leading the way into the New York Public Library on a mission to share his love of words with the first friend he had made who knew the secret of his deafness. And then inadvertently introduced that man to the romantic literary love of his life. Much to his young disappointment.

Only Castle could own a story like that...

As she pondered that image, the depth of the connection Castle shared with Harry Xiao became clearer and more mysterious at the same time. There were decades there. Harry had taken the struggling young boy into his eatery and then into his heart and watched him grow into the man sitting across from her. He had seen him find success as an author. He had known him when Alexis was born. Through the turmoil of two very public marriages and their very public breakdowns. And Castle had been there from the earliest of Darcy's days. All those long years of friendship, maybe even family after a fashion, hidden from the media, hidden from – from -. Wait -

"Castle, have you taken anyone - else - to meet Harry? Ever?" She watched him open his mouth and thought she recognized the beginnings of his daughter's name and cut him off. "Aside from Alexis."

When he didn't immediately respond she felt stunned.

"Castle, why di-"

"I didn't think. I'm sorr-"

They spoke at once, words tripping over each other.

"You don't have to be sorry," she said, when he didn't immediately try to speak again.

"I should have told you, him, them. Just-" he blurted the words out, and then paused again. In the silence, her thoughts tumbled.

"You didn't take Martha? Not Meredith or Gina? Castle, no one?" In a way that she would never, ever contemplate doing, he had just opened another door and let her deeper into his private world - a dearly held part, where not even his mother, nor his former wives had trodden before her.

Kate could barely conceive the circumstances where she would so easily do the same; where she could do the same. The inadvertent dropping of her own defences that had lead to this evening had been purely accidental, but instead of allowing that vulnerability, that possibility, her instinct had been the antithesis of her partner's. Where the unintentional revelation of his deafness seemed to have begun a slow, at times painful, process of opening up for him, her own stumble tonight had triggered an instinct to shut down. She had automatically sought to restore her defences, sticking them fast with her old friends: diversion and pretence. Castle's courage was unfathomable, humbling.

And he had just done it again.

"I- I don't know what to say," she managed after a moment. And that was the truth. She didn't.

"You don't have to say anything. I should have said something, but I sort of didn't plan it," he went on, "the thought just came to me that we could walk there from the Twelfth. And I just thought – I just wanted to- " he said, and she remembered the fleeting brush of his fingers as they walked arm in arm along the street. She remembered the entreaty in his touch. It was clear he had felt the intimacy of the entire evening, and it had spurred him to go further, to take her even further into his world. The significance of that was just so - "I wanted to introduce you to Harry, and I just - I didn't want it to be a big deal. I should have realised what he would think. I should have told you what I was doing. But, I'll fix it. I'll talk to him."

"No, Castle, you won't," she felt the words punch free, surprising herself. But he looked so pitiful, and she was ashamed at her own cowardice. So - so, this much she was brave enough to do: "We will. We will talk to him. And to Marion," She watched his surprise melt into a glow aimed squarely at her, and her resolve wavered into more business-like territory, "for the record, I still think you are over reacting, but, yes we'll sort it out."

Castle smiled. Tentative it at first, the small quirk of his lips bloomed quietly out from his mouth across his face until his eyes crinkled at the corners. There was delight there, yes, but also the familiar curl of humour that let her know she had just promised something she may regret. "I'll hold you to that, Detective."

The waiter appeared to take their orders: pasta and wine. When she had departed, her partner regarded her, a hint of mischief and a familiar smugness in his expression that told her it was her turn to have her pigtails pulled.

"So," he said, "before you tell me what I missed this afternoon, are you going to finally ask me?"

"Ask you what?"

"Beckett, I've seen you asking me with your eyes ever since I woke up in the hospital," he said, "you've been very ... tactful... and we haven't exactly had the time or the place, but I know you want to ask. You are allowed to ask, Beckett . I want you to."

"I'm... I ... OK," she didn't even try to pretend she didn't know to what he was referring, and her curiosity leapt free of the corner she had pushed it into days ago, "what is it like... Being... Deaf?"

"Straight to the point," he commented wryly, appreciatively. "That's - actually that's pretty hard to answer now that I hear it out loud. Pun intended."

"You weren't always, -."

"No," he concurred. "And I do remember the time before. At least I think I do. Did. Thought I did," he paused to take in her confusion. "Wind," he said, unhelpfully.

"Wind?"

"Uh huh, wind. I forgot about it. Which was ironic at the time given I was in the middle of writing Storm." Ok...? "Gina was reading a draft for part of a chapter. It wasn't a pivotal moment in the narrative, but the scene involved the description of wind, and I got it all wrong. I got the visuals correct, but the sound... Not so much." He grimaced, the memory clearly embarrassing him. "Anyway, Alexis is my guide now. Mother too. I don't know what I would do without them. Wind, insects, mumbling, whispering, ringtones... It amazes me at times, just how much noise there is in the world.

"But, to answer your question: being deaf is just part of who I am. Like being ruggedly handsome, I suppose. It just is what is." His eyebrows waggled. "Sometimes it's a burden- the being deaf part sometimes too - but mostly there are ways around it. I've had to learn to be observant. Like," he paused, more serious this time, looking around the room, "like - " he paused again, "those guys over there. The suits in the booth diagonally opposite us. What do you see?" He regarded her shrewdly, and her curiosity was burning so it wasn't a chore to go along with his request.

"Five men," Kate spoke after a moment of consideration, "typical business types in their late 20's. Reasonably successful, based on the cut of their suits. Out for a meal and a drink after work. Celebrating something. The cigars are a bit cliché, but maybe it's to celebrate a new deal?" she speculated, looking closely at the oblivious table. She watched the table rise into leers as the poor young waitress she had passed earlier, approached them, pencil and paper poised. "And they've already had one too many." She frowned. If they kept that up she was going to be paying them a visit, in an official capacity. "Maybe a few too many."

"Well observed, Detective, but note: the cocky red head there, yes, he's celebrating. But it's because he has been promoted to something in upper management, and being single he's brought his lackeys and yes-men out to celebrate. See the wine, that's an expensive Bordeaux. It's far too pricey for a man in a suit from last season's Brooks Brothers' discount rack, but it's what he believes he deserves now, part of what he sees as a sign of rising success." Kate blinked at his words. She looked harder over the lip of her water tumbler, using it for cover as she searched for what Castle was observing. Yes, she could see it now: the four other men turned deferentially towards the fifth, even as they sprawled out on the benches. And the red head, lounging back - a grand pasha receiving his admirers. The bottle was on display in before him, his property. "And the cigars, yeah: tacky," Castle continued, "there for the look. The redhead is not a big enough fish yet to think he can light one and get away with breaking the law, though he'd like to be that important - that's why he brought them. Give him enough wine and that might change, particularly if his friends egg him on. Being single, he doesn't have to be home at any particular time and the night is still very young so that may yet happen.

"His friends are all single, except for the man at the back. The one right back there, against the wall. He's uncomfortable with how the night is unfolding, and he doesn't like the red head, but he needs the money and the connections so he's going to stick it out as long as he can stomach it. He's not drinking so that might not be long, particularly if these guys keep giving their waitress a hard time. He really doesn't want to be here. He has a young child too, maybe a baby, as well as his wife, waiting for him at home." Kate followed his direction, and yes, the man in question was slumped a little against the wall and even though he was facing the ring leader, his body language approximating that of the other sycophants, his glass was still full in his hand and he was not participating in the increasingly ugly interaction between the others and the waitress. There was a smile on his face, but it did not reach his eyes and his cigar was in the hand that held his glass, not clenched in the corner of his mouth like his co-workers. A simple gold band glinted on his finger. She watched him touch it, his finger sliding over the metal band. Not hiding it, just holding on. She continued to examine the table as the wine arrived. She was barely aware of Castle fussing over the bottle.

"Castle! That's - impressive. But, how do you know he has a baby or a child at home?"

"You want me to give away all my secrets, Detective? If I did that, what use would you have for me solving all your cases for you?"

"You do not solve all our cases," she retorted.

"Most of - OK, half. All right, some. With a little help - from time to time."

"You're deflecting. How do you know?"

"Deduction, my dear Beckett!" He somehow managed to look cocky and tense at the same time. "I have studied the all the works of the Great Detective, Mr Sherlock Holmes, and I have practised." He took a sip of wine, nodded appreciatively at the taste, then looked at her, calculatingly. "Further, I bet his child is a girl."

"You can't know that, Castle."

"Can't I?" He arched an eyebrow. "Care to put some money on it?"

"A wager? You have a fifty fifty chance of being correct however you claim to know Castle, and I think you are bluffing - you can't possibly know the gender of his child." She glanced back at the table, noting the waitress was gone and feeling some relief for the young woman.

"Sure, I could be guessing," her partner looked like he was enjoying himself too much now, "but you want to know if I am." Damn, he was right about that. And not just if, but how he could know such a thing.

"All right Castle, but not for money."

"Something more serious, Detective?"

"Much more."

"You have my attention."

"If I win, if you are wrong about the baby, you have to agree to wear your hearing aids when you are with me - at the Twelfth and in the field."

"What?" Castle choked on his water. "But why - ? I don't - Bob said... I thought we were good -?"

"We are good, Castle, and I know what Bob said, but what happened with Baxter -" she paused, refusing to think on the details of the raid. "The Mayor has his agenda. I have mine. And if you want to keep on participating in our investigations outside of the bullpen, you will wear your hearing aids." She watched Castle closely as he considered. Martha had said that he didn't like wearing them, and by sheer evidence of him sitting across from her right now, he had survived many years without them. But that involved many years of writing novels, partying, and the sort of everyday life that did not involve any very real and immediately visceral risk to his life. And he had not been under her watch. Still, his immense distaste at her demand was obvious. Even though she knew he very well understood why she was insistent.

"What if I am right about the child? What do I get?" He pouted at her.

"The lip is a bit much, Castle. And, I know you, you don't believe you are wrong and you will get what you can't resist: an opportunity to show off."

"You're right, I can't resist that," he mused. "All right. I'm going to win, anyway, so it's a deal. Let's shake on it, Detective!"

"Really?"

"Well, ok, we could spit -"

"Shake! Shaking is fine." She reached over the table, meeting him half way and watched his hand engulf hers as they shook on the bet. And she refused to look any less than business like about it. Castle, on the other hand, fairly glowed as he took in the same sight.

"So, how do you propose we prove your hypothesis?" She asked, as the clasp eventually ended.

"The opportunity will present itself. Of that I am in no doubt. Ah! Our entrées. You're going to love this Beckett. They make the best bruschetta in the City."

"That is true," The waitress spoke with a smile, as she set down her mouth-watering burden on their table. "The secret is in the olive oil. Its sourced from Mr Abano's own heirloom variety at his family estate in California. His great grandfather brought the seeds with him when he emigrated to America. You won't find a comparable taste in the city. È totalmente unico! Buon appetito."

Author's note: it goes without saying that I am very sorry for the delay in new chapters. Life threw a few tricky hurdles my way, but I have never stopped plotting and planning this fic. I am now back in the saddle. This fic will be finished - that I promise. As usual, comments are very welcome.