The small poster on the bullpen noticeboard was predictably a combination of red, green, and a dusting of white. The annual Police Officer's Ball was once again coming up in just over a month, and the text indicated that both single and couple's tickets were available now, all proceeds to fund the evening.

They used Comic Sans? Really?

Castle closed his eyes for a moment, then put on what he hoped was a good approximation of his usual cheery morning smile, before continuing on his way towards Beckett's desk.

He set down the two coffees he was carrying, and lowered himself into his chair, before looking up at his partner. She was already looking at him, with the barest hint of a smile on her face.

"'Morning, Castle," she said, and he nodded in response.

"Good morning," he replied.

Beckett picked up her coffee and took a sip, closing her eyes for a moment as she did so. Castle watched her, keeping his expression carefully neutral. After a few moments, she sat the cup down again, and met his eyes once more.

"So," she said, and he raised an eyebrow.

"So?"

"So, you saw the flyer for the ball."

Castle paused for a moment, then simply nodded. "Yup."

"I hear that Espo asked Lanie," Beckett said, as if sharing a great secret.

"Huh," Castle replied, a little surprised. "And she said…?"

"She said she'd think about it, but she's going to say yes."

"Huh," he said again, folding his arms in contemplation. "Well, great. That's good. I hope it works out for them this time."

Beckett picked up her coffee again. "Yeah. Me too. And Ryan's bringing Jenny, of course."

"Of course," Castle replied, with another nod.

He understood the subtext; you didn't have to be a bestselling novelist for this one. She was playing their usual game, that they'd found their way back into at some point during the intervening months since that long summer of separation after she was shot. The game where she expected him to push, and to flirt, and to make innuendo.

Then she gets to sidestep or step back, and to maybe flirt and maybe not, and sometimes to pretend she doesn't notice.

It was a dance, actually, more than a game. Elegantly choreographed, and no matter how long you performed the moves, you ended up in exactly the same place when the night drew to a close.

Stalled, he thought.

Which was why he'd been coming to a realisation lately, and to a decision even more recently. He was stepping back. Not from the precinct, or their partnership, or their friendship — those were non-negotiable. He'd said always, and he meant it. He'd be there for her. But from this hope and longing inside him, that more and more seemed to just be a way for him to torture himself every day. He was stepping back from that.

His mind had replayed the conversation on the swings so many times. He knew it by heart. But its meaning had become less clear with every passing week and month. Vague assurances, and all sounding so very like what he wanted to hear, but without anything concrete. Without any idea of a timeframe. Without even any confirmation that it was him she was talking about — and certainly she'd made no attempt at clarification since then.

The bombing case had clinched the matter. I remember every second of it. It had been like a punch in the gut, or maybe a bullet to the chest. He hadn't left the loft all weekend after the case was closed, and had even taken two sick days on the Monday and Tuesday, with an entirely fictional mild flu. The bags under his eyes and the flush to his face had made it believable to his daughter and his mother, but the heat in him was from humiliation instead of fever.

He still considered it his greatest act of self-control to show up again at the precinct, and continue as if nothing had changed. It got easier after the first two days, and now a further week had passed. He wondered if he'd even missed his calling as an actor. Beckett didn't suspect a thing.

But there were limits to how far he'd go to maintain the pretence of playing their same old game. Doing the same old dance. So now he was acting as if he didn't know what she was hinting at, and he was most certainly not inviting her to the Christmas ball, even though this was the first time during their partnership that she'd been both single and remotely likely to accept at this time of year.

She was sipping her coffee again, and looking at him as if she was trying to figure something out. After another moment, she spoke.

"I think LT's coming round later to take ticket orders," she said. "There was an email."

"Mm," he replied. "Remind me to chip in a donation. Maybe Gates will hear about it and go easy for a while."

He reached for his own coffee, studiously not noticing the slight crease that appeared on Beckett's brow.

"So do we have a case?" he asked, and she looked at him for a long moment before replying.

"Uh, no, not so far. Paperwork til then."

"Enjoy," he said, giving her his best smug grin, and took his phone out of his pocket. He tapped the Angry Birds app, and soon he was engrossed in the game.

Beckett kept looking at him for almost half a minute before turning her attention back to her computer. The crease on her brow had deepened.

Castle looked up when he noticed a tall presence in his peripheral vision, across at Ryan and Esposito's desks. LT was there, holding a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other.

"Back in a sec," he said, causing Beckett to look up from a form she was filling in, and then he stood up and strolled over to where the three men were chatting amiably. Beckett turned in her chair to track his progress.

"Hey Castle, you're just in time," Esposito said, pointing towards the clipboard LT held. "Social event of the season."

"So I'm told," Castle replied, smiling at LT and also nodding at Ryan, who stood with his hands in his pockets, casually leaning against his own desk. Castle focused his attention on the uniformed man.

"Can I make a donation? Just as a token of thanks to everybody. Maybe pay for some drinks. Let's say two hundred bucks."

"That'd be great," LT said warmly, making a note on the sheet of paper clipped to the board. "And how many tickets do you need, Castle?"

"Just the donation," Castle said with a smile. "Thanks, LT. Well, got to get back to all this paperwork." He winked at the three other men, noting Ryan's mouth was half-open, then he strode back to Beckett's desk. He could see that she had been watching and listening to the whole thing. He made a point of peering into her coffee cup, which was empty.

"I'll get us more coffee," he said brightly, picking up both cups and then immediately walking towards the break room.

Castle knew exactly when she came into the break room after him. He'd recognise the sound of her heels, and the unique rhythm of her footsteps, anywhere. He'd only been in there for a minute or so.

"You're not going to the thing?" she asked, with a casualness that anyone else would have completely believed. His back was to her because he was making their coffee, and he only gave a half-glance over his shoulder as he continued with the task.

"The thing?" he replied, equally casually.

"The ball."

"Oh," he said. "I'm just–"

Not kidding myself anymore. Saying uncle.

"–having a quieter Christmas this year."

His tone implied that the answer explained everything, even though he knew it only raised more questions. He could imagine the wrinkle between her eyebrows, even though his focus was still on the elaborate coffee machine.

"Quieter," she repeated, as if she was deciding whether she believed him.

He finished preparing their coffees, and picked up both cups, turning to face her. He handed hers over with a small smile.

"Everything OK, Castle?" she asked. "Not like you to miss a party."

Her tone was light and teasing, but he could see the puzzlement in her eyes. And she was right; it wasn't like him. He shrugged.

"Just not really in the mood for dancing," he replied.

Careful, his mind whispered, and he forced another breezy smile onto his lips, holding it for a moment before taking a sip of his coffee. Then he walked past her, and back out into the bullpen.