Set in that mythic, mysterious period post-Boom.

It's been a week since Scott Dunn was caught, but she hasn't left Castle's loft.

She will. She really will.

But apartment hunting takes time, and she's had a nightmare with the insurance company, and the entire Castle family has told her, in no uncertain terms, that they're not letting her leave until she has a new place. She's tried to explain that she could stay with her dad, or even with Lanie, but Castle just scoffed, Alexis screwed up her nose, and Martha waved her hands dismissively. Kate. Darling. Since I've moved in with Chet, Richard has all the room in the world. Why keep moving? Stay here till you have a lovely new chez toi.

Which is why she finds herself on the couch with Rick Castle one night after work, drinking wine and watching TV.

It's not weird. That's the problem: it should be uncomfortable. It's not. It's far too comfortable.

Castle's been surprisingly good about giving her space, she has to admit. His bedroom is a floor away, and she has her own bathroom. He doesn't cling and doesn't pressure her to participate in anything. Just welcomes her for family dinners and asks which movie she wants to watch.

His wine selection is perfection itself. She's sipping now at some obscure French label she's never heard of that's better than anything she's ever tasted.

Kate's instinctively curled in the corner of the couch, but Castle doesn't seem to have the same instinct; he's sitting closer than she expected.

He smells good.

Nope. No. She focuses on the screen. "Anything on?"

He shrugs. "Nothing yet."

He flips to the Discovery Channel, and stops on a camera filming a pair of otters. One is chasing the other, who keeps circling a pool, occasionally stopping to kick at him.

"Aww. Look. That otter got a shadow." He chuckles. "Poor thing can't escape."

"I know how she feels."

He turns to stare at her, jaw dropped. "Beckett. Are you implying that I chase you around like a pathetic little otter?"

"Of course not." She sips her wine. "The otter doesn't talk incessantly."

Castle clutches his heart dramatically. "I'm hurt. And wounded. See if I ever pull you out of a burning building again."

She huffs a short laugh. "Oh, really?"

"Next time you get blown up, you can call someone else to come pull you out of the inferno, Detective."

She's always appreciated his humor, but she has this odd need to get past it tonight. Because it's all just so much more.

"Castle." She reaches out and squeezes his hand. The wine is swirling in her bloodstream, a rich, low hum that buzzes in her veins, and her mouth is just a second ahead of her. "Thank you. For everything."

He smiles at her, soft, quiet, twining his fingers through hers. "You're welcome. Now hush. Otters."

It's not long before Kate starts nodding off. It's not unusual for her to fall asleep watching television at night, and the wine certainly isn't stopping it.

She just manages to catch herself as she leans toward his side. Her head snaps up, her cheeks hot. "Oh. Uh. Sorry, I wasn't -"

"I'm a highly specialized snuggler. Feel free to use my shoulder. Or any other part of my b-"

"Castle."

"Right. Sorry."

"You don't look sorry."

"True. I'm not."

They fall silent, watching as the soothing British narrator talks about the playful habits of aquatic mammals, and Kate's still so tired. Her whole body is relaxing, loose, slack limbs, and his couch is so comfortable. The otters zip through the pool, and she smiles drowsily. Cute. So cute.

This time, she's not really aware of her eyes closing until she's already asleep.