Disclaimer: Still just borrowing these lovely characters. The rest is my own.

A/N: This one-shot was set up in "Santa Baby", and therefore forms something of an epilogue to that story. Kate filled out a leave request form in Ch4. to get time off on New Years Eve because Black Pawn is throwing a party in honor of Richard Castle at the restaurant 'Cipriani Downtown' in SoHo. One-shot. No spoilers.

The Ball Drop

"Noo let us hope our years may be

As guid as they ha'e been,

And trust we ne'er again may see,

The sorrows we ha'e seen."

'A Guid New Year To Ane An' A' by Alexander Hume.

(A Good New Year To One and All)

She's had the day off as pre-arranged with Captain Gates, and it has passed with the slow beat of breakfast, followed by a long walk, a short stop-off for coffee in a tiny little hole in the wall of a cafe in Prince Street, before heading back to the loft to rest up and watch a movie, before the final hours of 2012 tick leisurely to a close.

Kate has been taking stock, as she does every year, of her achievements, successes, the items on her mental 'to do' list she failed to fit in this year, separating those she can discard from those she wants to carry over. And she takes time out to think of her mom, remembering with startling clarity their last New Year together, how lacking in portent those days seemed, how utterly normal, dull even, before their lives would be changed forever.

Alexis has been with them all day, from breakfast onwards. Max is in London, she's at a loose end, and she actually seems to enjoy Kate's company anyway. So it's easy and light-hearted, and Alexis distracts her dad long enough when they're out on the chilly, quiet SoHo streets that Kate has time to duck inside her own head for a little while without hurting him, without him noticing her absence too much, without making him feel like he isn't enough, could never understand, and top amongst all of Castle's regrets: that he can't fix this for her.

"Hey, you okay?" he asks Kate, as they leave the coffee shop and turn for home, the grey clouds hovering above making it feel later in the day than it actually is, the low sky pressing down on them.

Castle is juggling a large, green and white bag of Italian cantuccini cookies and a bottle of Vin Santo dessert wine wrapped up in dark red tissue paper as he reaches for her hand.

"I'm good," she says, giving his fingers a quick, reassuring squeeze, before releasing them again to go and look at something Alexis wants to show her in the window of a small vintage store up ahead.

Castle watches them go, bumping shoulders, faintly hears their animated chatter, this easy way they've cultivated between them since Alexis came home for her first Christmas as a college freshman and Kate encouraged him to give her a little more space, to make allowances for all the ways in which she needs time to stretch, to become her own person. He thinks it's remarkable, how well these two women that he loves have overcome their past issues to accommodate one another's place in his life, and to forge a strong friendship of their own in the process.

"Hurry up, dad," yells Alexis, waving for him to catch up with them when he lags several storefronts behind, lost in thought.

He jogs along the faintly icy sidewalk, thankful for the stinging cold breeze that forces tears out of the side of his eyes and disguises the choke of emotion tightening his throat.

'Sentimental fool', he thinks to himself, slotting easily into the space the two women part to make for him.

"This is your fifteen minute call, Miss Beckett," calls Castle, in the nasal voice of a theater stagehand speaking over a backstage intercom, as he pokes his head around the bedroom doorjamb.

"Be right with you," yells Kate, from the depths of the en suite bathroom.

She's been holding him at bay all evening, kind of like a bride on her wedding day, determined that he would not get to see her gown before they left for the party.

Alexis helped her pick it out one frantic afternoon spent trailing around the independent boutiques near the loft, too tired and too short on time to be bothered organizing a trip uptown to trawl the larger stores of Madison Avenue or Fifth.

She avoided the plethora of designer outposts that have sprung up around SoHo in the last ten or so years along with the gentrification of the old neighborhood; the Prada and Chanel boutiques, the D&G and DKNY monuments to opulence, despite Castle's urging that she is accompanying the guest of honor to what could be viewed as a business function, and so would she please take his credit card because her gown could easily be construed by his accountant as tax deductible, a legitimate business expense.

Kate had counter-argued, like the skilled daughter of two lawyers that she is, that he was sucking the romance right out of the New Years party if he forced her to look at it that way – as a mere business networking opportunity - opting instead to stick with the same store where she found her red lace dress for Christmas Day - Laundry by Shelli Segal over on Wooster Street, just five or so blocks from the loft.

She leans over the vanity, smudging just a little more gunmetal graphite eye shadow beneath each eye, softening the smoky effect with the foam applicator on the end of a half-used kohl eye pencil. Then she steps away from the mirror to check the result – too much, too little or just right? The Goldilocks method of make-up application.

"You'll wear that mirror out," says a cheeky, impish voice from off to her left hand side.

When Kate whirls around guiltily, Little Castle is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a perky grin on her face.

"And you should know better than to sneak up on a serving police officer by now," Kate throws back at her, nervously smoothing her hands down over her stomach and hips, a grin tugging at her quivering cheeks.

"He sent you in here to hurry me along, didn't he?" asks Kate, dragging her eyes away from the mirror, her heart thundering like a string of thoroughbred racehorses at Saratoga Springs.

She's so nervous, uncharacteristically so, and her palms are sweating, her mouth is dry, and her heart…well, her heart is only partly responding to the pre-party nerves. This is the first event they will attend as an official couple, and that means media attention, paparazzi intrusion, and worse still, Paula and Gina watching their every move.

But her heart races for other reasons too. Castle has proved himself time and again a more than worthy partner for her, an unofficial member of the NYPD that Kate's pretty certain the Department should be more than happy to officially deputize, he's that good. But this is the only time he has asked her to step in to support him in any official capacity that will benefit his work life since they've been together, and it means a lot to her that he would ask, and she wants to prove herself worthy to be on his arm; a genuine asset, an intellectual equal, as opposed to the arm candy he squired to similar events in the past. She wants to be so much more than fodder for Page Six – an eye-catching photo in a gossip column.

This is also the first New Years they will have spent in each other's company, sipping champagne as they count down the seconds until the ball drops in Times Square, the clock strikes midnight, and a fresh year stretches ahead of them like a field of virgin snow, leaving them staring out at all the unformed possibilities offered by a future together.

So, yeah, she has several reasons to feel nervous right now.

Alexis is watching her, eyes glancing from her face to her dress, from her hair to the gold and crystal cuff around her wrist, the diamond earrings Castle gave her for Christmas sparkling fiercely under the light from the halogen spots in the bathroom.

"Dad's going to freak when he sees you," she warns, coming further into the bathroom a little timidly, watching Kate blot her red Dior lipstick on a tissue and then begin to reapply a second layer.

"Good freak, I hope?" frowns Kate, her upper lip sticking to her teeth, twitching with nerves as her hands shake.

"You look…Kate, that dress was made for you," adds Alexis, shaking her head in disbelief. "I can't believe we found that only a few blocks from here, and you just throw it on and it looks…"

The girl circles behind her, admiring the view from several angles.

"I wish Grams was here to see you in this. Let me grab my phone so I can take a picture," she says, skidding out of the bathroom on slippered feet.

Kate gets a small sense of what it must feel like to have a daughter of her own to watch her get ready to go out to a party, just as she used to marvel at her own mother's transformation from mommy to elegant lady, when Johanna and her dad went out to functions together all dressed up.

Alexis reappears, bringing Kate's clutch in with her from the bedroom.

"Thought you might want this," she says, pointing to the navy lipstick case sitting on the vanity, reminding Kate to pack it.

"Thank you. I'm a mess tonight," admits Kate, smoothing her skirt once more.

"You look like a movie star," blurts Alexis, switching her iPhone to camera mode. "Why are you so nervous?"

"This is important…for your dad. It might be a party, but he's…he's really working tonight. Guest of honor and all that."

"You might have to tell him that," laughs Alexis, looking out over her shoulder towards the living room. "He's as giddy as I've ever seen him. But…you always look so confident. Like nothing ever fazes you."

"Sometimes that's an act people perfect, Alexis. Mostly I'm not out of my depth, so I'm comfortable, in control. Most of the time. This is…this is your dad's world, not mine," she says, shaking her head, fingers clenching and unclenching into fists against the rim of the vanity.

"But it's your world now too," Alexis reminds her, framing a photograph from the doorway of the bathroom.

Kate tries to hold still, hold a pose that looks natural, but ends up feeling stiff.

"Put your hand on your hip," Alexis instructs. "Always the right one in this dress. Okay, now turn slightly to the camera, shoulder leading, and smile," she tells her, smiling along with Kate as she presses the button.

"There. Perfect," she announces, checking the photo on her phone.

"Let's do one with both of us," suggests Kate, trying to distract herself.

Alexis makes a face and looks down at her jeans and green wool sweater.

"Come on," urges Kate, waving her over, and then spinning her round, her arm looping loosely around the girl's shoulder. "For Martha."

Alexis has switched the camera view so they're both in the shot and she's holding the phone at arms length to compose the photograph when Castle taps on the open bathroom door.

"Did someone ring for a photographer?" he asks, his grin slipping slightly as he catches sight of Kate in her dress for the first time.

"How about I take one of you two?" suggest Alexis, after her dad pulls it together enough to snap one of his two girls.

"Maybe not in here, though," suggests Kate, gathering her things together, packing up her clutch, snatching a fresh Kleenex at the last second and stuffing it into her evening bag.

They head out through the bedroom and gather in front of the Christmas tree. Alexis art directs, just as Jim Beckett did on Christmas Day, angling the couple towards one another, Castle's arm around Kate's waist, shoulders kissing.

"You keep taking my breath away like this," he whispers against her temple, "and I'm gonna need my own oxygen supply."

Kate giggles at his corny line, flexing her fingers on his waist.

"I mean it, Kate," he murmurs into her hair. "I don't know how it's even possible, but you get more beautiful every day."

"Dad, stop talking and look at the camera," chides Alexis, framing the picture once his lips stop moving and he manages to form a smile.

"Beautiful," she declares with some satisfaction, adding, "Well, Kate is anyway. You're just…you," she risks, squealing when Castle threatens to chase her around the loft and tickle her.

"We'd better get going," Kate interrupts, her nerves transforming her into this serious-faced person she doesn't want to be…not tonight.

"Text me that photo if you want your college tuition paid, young lady," Castle threatens Alexis, where she's hiding out behind the island in the kitchen.

"Got everything?" he asks Kate, helping her into a short, black fur jacket, the bracelet length sleeves allowing her to slip on a pair of black leather gloves that reach all the way up to her elbows, filling the gap where her wrists are bare against the cold.

"We won't be too late," Kate says, turning to address Alexis, a puzzled frown forming on her face at this kneejerk statement that pops out of her mouth like some kind of muscle memory.

An image of her mother floats in front of her eyes, a faint trace of her perfume coming to mind so vividly that it seems achingly real for a second.

She flushes with pleasure when Alexis gives her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Have fun. And stay out as late as you want," she reminds her dad and his girlfriend. "I'll be fine."

Alexis is about to close the door behind them, when she catches Kate's arm and tells her quietly, so that her dad won't understand, "Souviens-toi que c'est ton monde à toi aussi maintenant."

Kate nods back at the girl, biting her lip. "Merci, je m'en souviendrai," she says, squeezing Alexis' hand in gratitude, thinking, 'no, I won't forget, this is my world now too'.

"What was that all about?" asks Castle, as they step into the elevator.

"All what?" asks Kate innocently.

"The secret French stuff you two were muttering to each other."

"Just Alexis reminding me to keep you off the Scotch in case you turn into a frog at midnight."

"No chance. Not if I'm kissing you."

"Better play your cards right then, Mr. Castle," Kate says, pressing the button for the lobby.

"Seriously sexy gloves, Beckett," Castle groans, once they are settled in the back of the limo Black Pawn has sent to collect them.

The party is in a SoHo restaurant the publisher has taken over for the evening – Cipriani Downtown. It's only a five-block walk from the loft, practically straight as the crow flies, but with Kate's heels and the icy streets, not to mention the threat of more snow, Paula thought it better that they make a grand entrance from behind the blacked-out windows of a stretch limo like the celebrities she wants them to be. Rather than like a couple of locals, on foot, even although that's closer to what they actually are.

"Hey, you look stunning tonight. Did I tell you that already? Press are going to eat you all up," he says, reaching for Kate's hand, as the limo bumps and bounces its way over the broken cobbles and sunken patches of bitumen that make up the patchwork quilt that is Broome Street.

Kate gives him a weak smile and tightens her grip on his hand.

"You okay?"

He's glowing, practically bouncing with excitement on the seat beside her, such fire in his eyes at even the thought of tonight. It's been there for days whenever the party came up in conversation.

"Yeah, sure," she says, trying to shake off her nerves.

"You're gonna knock 'em dead, Kate," he reassures her, kissing her leather-clad knuckles.

Silence settles for few seconds.

"I…I just don't want to mess this up for you, Castle," she confesses, closing her eyes and wrinkling her brow against the response she knows is coming, as she blows out a long, slow breath.

"Kate? Kate, look at me, please?" he cajoles, as the limo draws to a halt at a red light on the corner of Broome and West Broadway, mere seconds from their destination.

She cracks open one eye, peeks out at him from beneath her dark lashes.

"Not even possible. Okay? You're…oh, you are so much more than I could ever have hoped for, than I even deserve. And you're going to captivate every single one of these people tonight, Kate, just like you captivated me."

"I hope you're right," sighs Kate, pointing out the side window, as the limo coasts around the corner and over towards the curb. "Because Paula's waiting for us, and she doesn't look happy."

Paula Haas, Castle's strident, demanding agent, is standing by the red rope that has been set up curbside to simultaneously control entry to the party and corral the gathering of paparazzi photographers on the street outside.

"Ya' late," she hurls at Castle, as soon as his feet hit the sidewalk.

But he hurries past her to get to Kate, taking her arm and ignoring the opening criticism Paula levels at him. The woman is never happy.

"Fashionably so, I think you'll find," Castle murmurs down to the small, pitbull of a woman, ushering Kate towards the restless phalanx of photographers.

"She okay?" asks Paula, tugging on the sleeve of Castle's coat before they can go any further, jerking her head towards his girlfriend.

Castle glances at Kate, who is currently trying out a range of smiles it would seem, in a conscious effort to loosen up.

"Just look at her. She's gorgeous," says Castle defensively. "And let's keep the interviews and photographs to a minimum tonight. This is our first New Year together. Get the work stuff out of the way, and then we're left alone. Understand?" he growls.

"Press are gonna love her, Ricky. I'll do my best. But no promises," she shrugs, strutting off to warm up the paps.

"Ready for this little bit of crazy?" he asks gently, tucking Kate's hand further into his arm.

"As I'll ever be, I guess," replies Kate, taking a deep breath and putting her best foot forward.

They hit the red carpet, that extends out from the front entrance of the restaurant all the way to the curb, and a powerful, blinding clash of flashes go off in their faces, temporarily blinding them. The large yellow awning above the restaurant frontage casts a warm glow over everything, even at this late hour, gilding Kate's curls with highlights of gold.

"Eyes and teeth, as my mother would say," grits Castle through clenched jaws, forcing his own eyes back open, looking down slightly towards the carpet to avoid the full strobing effect caused by so many cameras going off in such close proximity and with such repeated rapidity.

Cries of "Detective", "Nikki, this way", "Detective Beckett", and "Mr. Castle, over here", echo around the sidewalk, and Kate and Castle oblige as best they can, turning towards the source of each cry for attention, pausing for a few seconds as another flash goes off and then moving on.

Paula leads the way towards the entrance, making sure that the two enormous goons in the black tuxes and dark glasses, hired to manage the door and the crowd, step back to allow the guests of honor to pass inside.

"Tessa Giglia is here from The Post, Harry 'Hatchetman' Holms from the Times, and Libby Conner from The Ledger is lurking somewhere around here too. So, be on your guard," she warns both of them, acknowledging Kate for the first time since they arrived, her words peppering the air like a volley of rapid gunfire.

"And everyone's a blogger these days, don't forget. So watch yourself around pushy guests with camera phones. And no groping, Ricky," she warns Castle, wagging her finger under his nose. "Though the odd tasteful smooch would definitely not go amiss with the tabloids," she whines in her nasal, Queens' accent, before setting off into an ear-piercing laugh a hyena would be proud of.

They're inside the entrance now, and the coat-check girl comes forward to help Kate out of her jacket, handing her a small brass disc in return.

"Oh, you scrub up real nice, detective," says Paula, transferring her gum from one cheek to the other seamlessly as she runs her eyes down over Kate's gown. "Real nice," she coos, fingering the gold cuff around Kate's wrist.

"I'll take that as a compliment," says Kate coolly, suddenly finding her feet, realizing that dealing with these people is really no different to the myriad roles she has to play every time she steps into interrogation to face a new suspect, question a witness, or deliver the ultimate bad news to a bereaved family.

Kate turns away from Castle's dark-haired agent, scanning the entranceway for waiting staff. She spies an attractive looking girl in a white shirt and black waiter's uniform circulating with a trayful of champagne flutes containing the restaurant's signature drink – a Bellini of Prosecco and peach purée - and she waves her over.

"Rick," she says, confidently lifting a glass for each of them, while pointedly ignoring Paula. "Let's get this party started, shall we?"

"Cheers," replies Castle, matching her wide, relaxed smile with one of his own. "I couldn't agree more, detective," he adds, looking thrilled with her, as he clinks the rim of his glass against hers.

"Don't get too carried away on that stuff. Black Pawn wants column inches from you two tonight. Remember that," Paula scolds, as the party's roving photographer comes into view for a few posed snaps now that they're indoors.

Castle is wearing a seriously well-cut, black, silk, Armani tuxedo, with a deep blue cummerbund and matching pocket square. Kate was quite overcome when she first saw him emerge from the bedroom dressed for this evening. It took her back all those years ago to the Metropolitan American Dance Theater charity fundraiser, feeling utterly naked as she wore a dress selected, bought, and paid for by one intensely irritating, but undeniably handsome, Richard Castle, the man she is now hopelessly in love with.

Kate's dress is a long column of midnight blue, draped over one shoulder, the other left bare. The fabric is gathered lightly down her left side, giving extra shape to the dress and movement to the fabric where it hugs her upper body, before falling freely all the way to the floor. The surface of the silk gown is scattered with tiny crystals, lending it the appearance of the sky at night; a rich expanse of midnight blue, studded with constellations of tiny, twinkling stars.

Her slender arms are bare, save for the gold and crystal cuff encircling one wrist, and Castle feels drawn to touch all of this exposed skin, standing close behind her as the photographer takes a few more photographs, running his free hand from her shoulder to her wrist, and reveling in the shiver that shoots through her body as she leans back into him, still holding her smile.

"Okay, show time's over for now," declares Castle, turning Kate around by her waist, once the photographer moves on, to press a soft, tender kiss to her forehead.

"You're doing great," he whispers, fingers ghosting up and down her spine, slipping lower over the high curve of her ass until she freezes.

"Your six o'clock," she warns, fingers slipping briefly inside his tux jacket to seek out the warmth of his body. "Haas in high dudgeon…and some blond woman in a seriously low-cut dress," observes Kate, over his shoulder, staring wide-eyed at the expanse of cleavage coming their way.

"Libby Conner," sighs Castle, without turning around. "She will try to needle you. Do not fall for it," he warns. "We never had so much as a drink toge…Libby!" he cries, feeling a sharp poke in his spine, just as Kate's nails rake lightly over his abs, claiming him and sending shockwaves of arousal through his body.

"Well, if it isn't Richard Castle," she purrs, sliding her hand down over his arm, squeezing as she passes over his biceps. "Been working out, I see," she winks, casting him a long appreciative gaze.

"Good to see you too, Libby," replies Castle, accepting the kisses she places on each cheek, before stepping back from her a couple of paces.

"Allow me to introduce…"

"Well, if it isn't the real Nikki Heat, as I live and breathe," declares Libby Conner, completely ignoring Castle's attempt at a polite introduction.

"Actually, this is my girlfriend and partner, Kate Beckett," he corrects the woman, slipping his arm protectively around Kate's waist, a move that isn't lost on eagle-eyed Libby.

Kate wipes off the bright pink smudges of lipstick the woman has just deposited on Castle's cheeks with the intimate sweep of her thumb.

"Girlfriend or partner? Which is it?" the woman asks. "So many awkward titles these days," she adds, flapping her hand in the air dismissively.

"Both, actually," replies Kate, holding out her hand to the slightly startled Ledger journalist. "He's my partner when we're on the job, and I'm his girlfriend when we're…not," Kate confides, snapping out the last word with a sharp click of her tongue, her pause laden with suggestion, hinting at all the naughty things they might get up to when not on duty.

"Oh, she's just great," Libby tells Castle, grabbing Kate by the wrist in an attempt to separate her from the writer.

"Didn't I tell you?" whines Paula, somewhere over Libby's shoulder, trying to take some credit.

"So, detective. Is it okay if I call you detective?"

"Please. This is a party," replies Kate, with a magnanimous smile. "Call me Kate."

"Okay, Kate. So, tell me, how did you end up ensnaring this notorious ladies man?" she asks, flashing Castle a dangerous smile.

"We…eh…we connected over a mutual weakness for solving things; riddles, crimes…secrets," says Kate cleverly, keeping her eyes trained on Castle the entire time she's speaking. "And we fell in love somewhere along the way."

"Sounds…like a fairytale," says Libby, her enthusiasm for teasing somewhat dimmed by Kate's words.

"Fairytales are for children, Ms. Conner," declares Kate, arching a suggestive eyebrow. "What we have is…strictly for adults only."

"Freshen this up?" asks Kate without missing a beat, depositing Castle's empty glass on a passing tray and then patting him on the chest, before spinning away in search of a fresh Bellini for each of them, as he stares after her, mouth hanging open in admiration, Libby Conner and Paula Haas equally open-mouthed at each elbow.

When he catches up with Kate, she's been waylaid by one of the restaurant's Italian owners - a handsome, smooth-looking man by the name of Gino Crolla.

"Make my year, cara signora, and tell me you came here alone tonight?" the Italian purrs, casting lustful eyes over Kate from head to toe.

"Sorry, Gino. This ain't your year, my friend," Castle tells him jovially, accepting a warm hug from the restaurateur.

"This beauty is yours, Ricky? Che culo!" he swears, slapping Castle on the back. "Lucky bastard."

"Forgive me, signora. Gino Crolla," he announces, offering Kate his hand, before bowing to kiss her knuckles.

The evening progresses in a similar fashion; interruptions from journalists, Paula, various friends and acquaintances of Castle's, all keen to meet the new lady in his life. Gina waves at them from across the floor when she arrives with some mystery man on her arm, but she doesn't make it all the way over to say hello, and Kate is frankly relieved. The restaurant isn't huge though, so he knows most of the crowd and takes great pleasure in showing Kate off.

"I can't wait to get out of here and take you home to bed," he whispers, leaning down to kiss her bare shoulder.

"This is your paperwork, Castle," Kate whispers back, skating her fingers over his wrist, rubbing her thumb up inside his French cuff where the skin is so warm and so soft. "My turn to stay by your side while you finish it off. Besides," she says, turning to look at the large clock on the far wall, "only twenty minutes to go."

There's music playing, and the crowd gets more and more lively as the time gets closer to midnight. People are dancing, tables having been cleared from the middle of the restaurant floor, pushed back against the banquettes around the edges of the room, so they can dance underneath the enormous Murano glass chandelier.

The tempo changes suddenly, when Procol Harum's 'A Whiter Shade of Pale' starts playing, and Castle excuses them from the adoring little group they've both been entertaining with stories of the numerous scrapes they've saved one another from, as he takes Kate's hand and leads her onto the makeshift dance floor, where those who came with partners or those who've partnered up over the course of the evening are getting better acquainted with the beginnings of this slow-dance.

Kate lets her head fall to his shoulder, her arms winding around his neck, fingers stroking the soft skin at his nape, and Castle sighs loudly, tightening his grip on her body as his arms fully encircle her back.

"I'm so proud of you tonight," he tells her, drawing her even closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

The silk of her dress whispers secrets against the fine cloth of his tux as they sway to the music.

'We skipped a light fandango,

Turned cartwheels 'cross the floor.

I was feeling kind of seasick,

But the crowd called out for more.

The room was humming harder,

As the ceiling flew away.

When we called out for another drink,

The waiter brought a tray.'

Castle brushes his lips across her temple, aware that they're being watched by half the room, but not caring a damn.

"I don't want this holiday season to end," he confesses against her hair, now they're wrapped up in one another, barely moving, just swaying from side-to-side and turning occasionally, when the crowd pressing around them demands it.

"All good things," murmurs Kate, nails scratching lightly at his scalp, attempting to soothe. "Besides, the holidays wouldn't be special if you had them all year round," she reasons. "And your tree would drop all of its needles eventually. Bare tree with all of our ornaments just dangling there…not a good look, Rick," she mumbles with a slow smile, lifting her head to kiss the warm, fragrant skin below his jaw.

"Our tree," he corrects, fingers pressing into her lower back. "Our ornaments on our tree, Kate."

"Mmm," she hums, turning him so that she can see the clock.

Ten minutes.

Ten minutes…and he's getting maudlin. They've never done this together before, so this might be par for the course for him, she's not entirely certain. But he is one for grand gestures, being swept up in the emotion of the moment, that she does know, and New Year can tip the most emotionally stable of people over the edge. Her years as a cop have taught her that the hard way.

The song eventually ends, but they keep moving slowly together, oblivious to everyone else, until the beat picks up again and Cee Lo Green's 'Forget You' starts blasting out, dragging an even bigger, more enthusiastic crowd onto the floor.

"Come on. Let's get a table," Kate suggests, dragging him blinking by the hand through the throng, up towards the back corner of the restaurant.

The ceiling is lower here, the atmosphere more intimate, and right in the corner is a perfect little table for two; white linen tablecloth, a single candle in a little crystal candle holder, and an inviting leather banquette where they can sit together largely unobserved. Perfect.

Castle calls a waiter over, orders a bottle of champagne and two glasses, before sitting down next to Kate.

She leans against his side, settling into him as he slips his arm around her shoulders and her hand comes to rest on his thigh.

"Well, that was quite a year," she says finally, as they sit back and observe the crowd getting more and more excited.

Paula is dancing with Gino Crolla, his hands wandering a little dangerously, considering what Kate suspects could be the agent's mean right hook.

"I don't think I'm ready for it to end," replies Castle, lifting his glass to toast hers, bubbles rising ceaselessly from the bottom of the glass.

"To new beginnings then," says Kate, clinking glasses with Castle. "May the best things stay the same, and the rest remain a work in progress."

"Very eloquent, for 'just a cop'" he teases, reminding her of the night they spent on the run, after their disastrous 'meet the parents' dinner, when they talked about how different they both are and whether they could overcome those differences to survive as a couple.

Different worlds. Her concerns seem so…inconsequential now, ridiculous, even.

"Not even gonna rise to that, Castle. I'm having way to good a time," she smirks, fingers flexing against his thigh, then smoothing over his pants leg, as she takes a long sip of champagne.

The crowd is getting over-excited. Party hats with 'Happy New Year' printed on them, streamers, horns, and 2013 sparkly glasses have been handed out, and the buzz of voices is reaching frenetic levels.

Kate can feel her heart rate speeding up with impending loss of another year. That irrational feeling that so much has been left undone and time is quickly running out, only for the clock to reset itself and the counter to begin again at zero. New chances to make everything right, to make your dreams come true.

But the man beside her reminds her so solidly of all that she's accomplished – falling in love, opening herself up to that, solving her mother's case, spending her first happy Christmas in years with her lover, his family, and her father. Happy, as she's sure her mother would want her to be.

There's a small TV behind the bar, and someone has switched it from Rai Uno Italia over to ABC's 'New Year's Rockin' Eve'. Ryan Seacrest and Jenny McCarthy, two perfect specimens of humankind, are bundled up against the cold, clutching microphones in chilled fingers on a platform high above Times Square, as the massive crowd of revelers spreads out below them.

Before they know it, the countdown starts, and then the guests at the party are joining in, yelling "Ten, nine, eight…" louder and more excited with each passing second.

Castle quickly tops up their glasses and grabs hold of Kate's hand, turning to face her, his back to the restaurant and the noisy throng.

"I don't want this year to end because I don't want you going back to your apartment tomorrow night. Stay with me Kate?" he asks breathlessly, as the countdown reaches fever pitch.

"…three, two, one…Happy New Year!" they all yell, jumping up and down, hugging and kissing, men shaking hands and slapping each other on the back, women's high-pitched voices carrying over everything.

The occasional couple is locked in a tight embrace, oblivious to the merriment and calamity happening all around them, as they loose themselves in each other, bringing in the New Year with the one they love.

For all the screaming, the hooting and hollering, the world seems to have stilled around Kate, shrunk down to just this small table, this man, and his life-changing question. Because if they do this, there will be no going back, their lives will become enmeshed, even more enmeshed anyway; home and work blending into one. And he will expect more, she knows…because he always expects more. It's in his nature not to settle until he gets what he wants – marriage, a baby quite possibly, the whole nine yards. But then he hasn't done too badly for them so far, she has to admit. His pushing got them here, his belief in her and them.

"On one condition," Kate says, meeting his stupidly hopeful gaze, her heart fluttering in her chest.

"Name it."

She bites her lip, slipping her free hand around his lapel, stroking the smooth, shiny satin with her thumb.

"Boba Fett relocates to the guest bathroom," she grins, fingers tightening around the curve of his hand, needing to hold on because she's suddenly shaking so much.

"Done!" declares Castle, with zero hesitation, eyes roaming her face as if he almost doesn't quite believe her, as if there has to be more than this: a need to persuade, to cajole or argue.

"Then you have a deal, Mr. Castle…and a live-in lover apparently," she laughs, eyes dancing like fire.

He's too stunned to speak at first, just stares at Kate with wide-eyed awe until his mouth will work again. Then he gasps in a breath.

"2013 is already the best year ever, and it's only…" he consults the clock above their heads, "thirty seconds old."

When he kisses her, it's slow and deliberate and laced with all those things she knows he's going to push them towards over the next twelve months. And she actually finds that she doesn't mind one little bit.

"Happy New Year, Rick," Kate whispers, brushing her nose against his, the champagne bubbles and the man she's going to live with sending showers of pretty sparks behind her eyes, making her head spin.

Best year ever…he might just be right.

A/N: Thank you for reading throughout the year, and for taking time out to leave so many comments and reviews. I hope 2013 is a great one for you and yours…for all of us, in fact. Happy New Year, whenever it comes around! Liv