A/N: Last chapter. Nothing to do with the sneaks, and it was hard not to think about them, because, have you watched them? They are deathly. Gee, I think I flatlined like every time I watched... *grins*... and went to shipper-heaven. I can't believe we're mere hours away!

Thanks for the follows and the favorites and especially, for the reviews, which mean a greater effort. They all are much appreciated. :)

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It's not that he prefers breakfast to sex. Nope. That's not it. Especially when it's extraordinary sex with the extraordinary Kate Beckett, who is wearing next to nothing and just a moment ago lied splayed across his bed and ready for him. It's this closeness, this new so casual intimacy. And it is great. She's still hot for him, but she's relaxed, sipping her coffee in silence, and he congratulates himself for the idea of bringing their breakfast to bed. Now they'll have time to settle, to get used to this newness. To know each other in this new side of their relationship that lies between the lovers and the friends.

He plans on attacking her and resume their third round (or was it the fourth?) right where they've left it, anyway, as soon as they can, once they've talked a bit, maybe, because he's dying for her to tell him that she's serious about this. She's got to be. And he also wants to make her eat, because God knows when it was the last time she ate and, after all the exercise of the night and the draining happenings of the day before, there's no way she's got much energy remaining. Well, he corrects himself, it's Beckett we're talking about. He's certain she could still kick ass and be the strong woman she is in any circumstance. Even after those acrobatics of last night that he can't take off his mind.

She certainly had all the right to wear that smug smile every time she teased him about her… uh… abilities.

Determined to keep his focus on the task he's imposed on himself and defying his wandering mind - which, let's be honest, will be wandering forever and distracting him at the most random times now that he's tasted the reality of her -, he cuts a pancake in small portions. He picks one under her suspicious stare, suspicious because, by the way he's throwing glances at her, she expects him to feed it to her. He hesitates, though, and instead of directing it to her mouth, or his, he simply hands her the fork with a sheepish stance. She takes it with a reserved smile, and eats it, while he simply stares at her, entranced by the way her mouth closes around the fork, the way her jaw works while chewing, how her eyes close as she tastes what he is sure is the first solid food he's eaten in two days. Looking at him through half closed lids, she takes in his wistful smile.

She's partly amused, partly fascinated by him and his eagerness. He just stopped what was going to be their first morning sex to bring her breakfast. The frustration she'd felt when she was left on the bed almost naked disappeared as soon as she saw his longing eyes and that adorable smile. He wants to make things right; he's giving her time, and some quiet moments to talk.

There was some talking last night, but not near enough; there had been more urgent things to do, like losing in each other completely. They had needed it so badly… And once they started, there was not a chance they stopped. There is no force in Nature that would have made them stop. They were a force of Nature themselves. Sheer passion.

Especially at that time when she had… and in return he had… Oh, God. She might be blushing…

She turns her head a little to try to cover the flush that started on her cheeks and is now spreading to her chest. His heated look sure doesn't help; she's almost certain he's remembering the same moment of the night as she is.

She inhales softly and, with her heart pounding, realizes that her blushing is not something she wants to hide from him. That's what he makes her feel. And judging by his unfaltering dreamy smile and those sweet sparkling eyes, he's just as struck.

She picks another piece of the pancake with the fork on her hand, tilts her head and offers it to him, her hand traveling to his mouth and coaxing his mouth open with a stroke of her hand to his cheek, her thumb on his lips. He takes the bite without averting his eyes from hers. Her mouth opens inadvertently, tongue licking her own lips at the intimate and unexpectedly hot act. She retreats, flustered, causing their arms to brush against each other. It's like an electric shock to her already hypersensitive skin. She throws a side glance at him from below her lashes and she knows that he's felt it too. It makes her shiver in anticipation, and it makes him stand still as she moves closer with intent; his eyes close, undoubtedly trying to regain some calm and keep himself in track. He draws a deep breath and she gives in; leaving the fork and moving the tray away, she leans on him, her head on the crook of her shoulder, her nose touching his neck.

"Thank you." She mutters.

Angling his upper body backwards, he pulls his arm from between them and slides his hand through her back diagonally, up to her shoulder and then down her arm to finally press her to him. She comes willingly and snuggles a bit, wrapped in the silence of a sweet embrace. He places a kiss on her hair. He doesn't need to ask; he'll just wait for her. To elaborate.

She remembers she did mention to him that she'd quitted, that she didn't need the job anymore, that she didn't want to cling to the past if that meant... Oh, what did she tell him exactly? She told him she wanted him; she made it clear. Pretty clear. But did she tell him that she'd come because he was the only thing she didn't want to give up on? Yes, she told him that she could only think of him while she was about to die. That she didn't care about the conspirators getting away.

But, does that convey all that she feels for him?

Not that she's willing to have a conversation about that… Oh, how she wishes she were any better at this. But having the conversation, the talk… The mere thought makes her want to... What, Kate, her mind supplies scornfully, sneak out? No, not that… She almost rolls her eyes at the stupidity of the idea. She wouldn't. She couldn't. Not after all the effort if took for her to finally step up and be here. Not after having tested his patience and his good will. For months. She could, however, she thinks, try to distract him with her charms if it comes to the moment the thought forms, she reproaches herself for it, shaking her head. It's Castle, she keeps reminding herself; sometimes it calms her, but sometimes it only makes her more anxious. It's Castle and you'd give whatever for him, her brain insists, you've already decided it. So, what if he wants to talk about what you feel? It's not as if she could hide it, anyway. Her mind goes back to all those times when he'd tried to disguise it, in vain. Apparently, it's obvious, as Lanie had pointed out more times than she'd have liked. Or her therapist. Or gee… Even the Captain. Her Captain, her friend.

She sighs at the thought of him and recalls their conversation the eve of that fateful day, when he'd plainly told her that he kept Castle around just because he was good for her. He had known. She'd known too, but kept fooling herself. She had tied her life to her mother's case and to her job because of that, and Castle had somehow been a hindrance, trying to pull her away from it by bringing her back to reality, attempting to open her eyes to the real magnitude of that. Just to keep her safe.

The argument at her apartment had been a harsh slap for her; Castle had thrown a lot of truths on her face, about the case, about them and she was… Scared? Petrified. She lived for her chase, how could he doubt that she'd win eventually. And them… How did he dare? How could he say those things about her when he was the one that had drifted away? She had tried to reach for him but he had rejected her and choose to… No, she can't be that unfair to him. It had burnt like a rejection but he hadn't known. She can blame him only for not having waited, for being human. But he came back, and has stayed by her side despite... all. And he has learnt to be patient since.

The night in the hangar had been hell. Despite the fight and the despair, he had been there for her, with her, and that's why she had been able to go on. He let her cry silently on his shoulder without the need of words, until the units had come. His mere presence had been the best solace. He had stood beside her and stayed strong and hadn't questioned her, nor flinched at her stern looks, her acid retorts, her mask of coolness. That's what she had meant on her eulogy to the Captain. She was aware. And thankful.

What would've happened between them if she hadn't been shot? Would have she been able to have knocked on his door like she did last night, asking for forgiveness and more? Who knows… But she's almost sure that she wouldn't have been able to detach from her mother's case. To really appreciate the meaning of the words of her Captain.

Irony or coincidence, almost one year later, the circumstances repeated themselves. The argument on her apartment had been worse, though, because he was tired and out of hope and they'd both felt betrayed by the other's secrets... Explosion of hurt feelings that ended with a huge raise of the stakes and the next move being her call. And right now she's so grateful that he did walk out her door and let her to deal with those issues without the safety net he's come to be for her. Because that allowed her to get things straight.

And get here.

However, even though they've come this far, which is quite far, she knows it's not enough; they have to advance, go forward, from here. If only she knew how or there were a magic formula...

Because sure as rain she doesn't want to ruin this and she's so afraid that she might, or harm it to some extent, unwillingly, that her chest constricts.

Maybe words are the magic formula, because so far, they've been shielding themselves under half truths, living on hints and nuances, glimpses of 'could-be's, shades of hope, walking over crumbles of old walls, all unstable, all in the air. That's what made them lose their way sometimes.

Yes, she'd like to think that, given where they've been, what they've been through, they both know where they stand with each other. She does know… He loves her; she loves him. But... does he know? The look in his eyes, hard and betrayed, when he'd opened the door… That had hurt. Almost much as his saying that they were done.

But she'd come here in the middle of the night, damp to the bone, cold and desperate claiming to want him and only him; she had apologized with her body and her soul. Is it enough for him to know the depth of her feelings?

It was enough for him to accept her back, to at least begin to forgive her and she wishes he knows the real importance of this to her.

She's still here. This is it for her. She's been healing for this, for him as much as for herself. To be able to be here and even more. To be able to stay.

"For not giving up." She speaks again in the bright light of the morning, in the shiny rays of a new day. And her words try to convey all that she feels, all that she wants.

"But I did, I…" He can't avoid thinking that he should have been there. Although a part of him is perfectly aware that there had to be like that, he had to step away for her to take the leap.

"No, Castle," she places a hand on his chest, above his heart and plays with her fingertips in the soft skin. "You woke me up."

He learned last summer, the hard way, that the fear of loss is not just a random plot device. It prompts the biggest acts of love, brings the major revelations. Makes you realize your place in the world. For real.

He presses his own hand over hers and holds it in place, entwining their fingers and she presses a kiss on his knuckles, then nuzzles his neck.

"Always."

And he says it with purpose. If it's up to him, he would wake her up every single day of the rest of their lives.

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Fin

A/N2: Hope you've liked it. Let me know... hearing from you is always a thrill. :)