love is a place
& through this place of
love move
(with brightness of peace)
all places

ee cummings

He needs to get out of the city, and she understands.

After calling private security to keep an eye on his mother and daughter, Castle calls a friend who owes him a favor. Kate doesn't ask questions. She doesn't raise her eyebrows when they end up on a private flight without appearing on the passenger manifest. She just goes with it when they change flights somewhere in Ohio and board a tiny puddlejumper that lands, hours later, at a small, privately-owned airport in Iowa.

The town is big enough that they don't garner a lot of attention, but small enough that they can't disappear. It's quiet and quaint and unexciting. Exactly the kind of place no one would think to look for them. They end up at a bed-and-breakfast just off the town's main street, in a pretty old neighborhood filled with graceful Victorian houses and rosebushes and garden gnomes and streets called Fjelstuhl and Solsruud and Nyquist. He checks them in under the names Robert and Ella Jones, telling their friendly hostess Elsa that they're from Wisconsin, just needed to get away on a quiet vacation for a few days. Kate says nothing, just leans tiredly into his side as he slips his arm around her waist.

Their room is spacious and gentle, the furniture all gleaming, polished maple. The windows are broad, with airy curtains framing a view of the nearby river, its banks lined with trees in a bright autumn riot of scarlet and orange and yellow. The bed is draped with a beautiful quilt, a masterpiece of handcrafted patience, with tiny stitches and a complex, swirling floral pattern in cream and rose and gold. An antique embroidery sampler hangs on the wall. A few jars of potpourri sit on the dresser.

Kate lets out a long, shuddering breath, shutting her eyes. She hasn't really slept since before this nightmare began. His arms circle her waist, and he kisses her cheek gently. "Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Tired?"

It's so much more than tired. It's weary. Her body and her mind and her heart are exhausted, heavy and sodden and limp. She came so close to losing everything, losing this man she loves so fiercely her body hurts, and the strain of trying to hold herself together while her heart cracked into pieces almost broke her. She just needs everything to stop for a while.

She tugs his hand and wordlessly pulls him into bed, burrowing into his arms, curling into the solid, reassuring warmth of his body. He pulls her close and she falls asleep to the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest and the gentle rhythm of a heart that's still beating.

When she opens her eyes, he's still lying beside her, running his hand absently over her hair. She wonders if he slept at all.

She turns her head, and he sees she's awake. "Hey. You sleep okay?"

"Yeah." She swallows through the cottony taste in her mouth, rubbing her eyes. "Why are we here, Castle?"

"I needed to get away from it."

She hears away from him. "It's okay, Castle." She puts her hand to his cheek, kissing the corner of his mouth gently. "We're okay."

"God, Kate - " His arms tighten around her. She can feel him shuddering. "It wasn't just me. He wanted to destroy you. And I thought there was nothing I could do, and I just - "

"Castle. Castle, shhh. I know. I know." His cheeks are wet under her palms. Her own eyes are stinging, because while she was agonizing over betrayal in the comfort of her own place, he was trapped in a holding cell listening to Jerry Tyson explain, detail by horrific detail, how he was going to destroy Castle's world, person by person.

"Kate, he was going to -"

"I know. I know." A chill cuts through her heart, because she knows that if he hadn't survived, she wouldn't have, either. Not another person she loves this much.

She lets him cry quietly into her shoulder, in this pale, gentle bedroom in a small town where no one knows them. And she silently mouths I love you into his skin.

Dinner, according to the little chalkboard outside the dining room, is something called svinekoteletter. Kate's apprehensive until Elsa brings out the food. Apparently svinekoteletter is the Norwegian name for pork chops.

Castle's calmed down; he chats with Elsa and her husband and smiles at Kate, and she feels the tightness in her chest loosen. He meets her eyes over the table, and when his hand brushes hers as he reaches for his glass, she curls her fingers briefly around his.

When it's time for dessert, Elsa brings out a mouth-watering meringue that she calls pikekyss. Her eyes sparkle as she serves them. "It means girl's kiss," she teases. Kate bites her lip, and Castle nudges her foot slyly under the table.

That night, they cuddle under the warm quilt, the soft glow of moonlight casting lazy, silvery light through the gauzy curtains. He buries his face in her hair. The bed is wonderfully comfortable, the sheets smelling softly of lavender. She'd always thought when he took her somewhere, he'd get them a fancy hotel, something like that place in LA. Something rich and swanky. Not embroidery samplers and doilies and handmade quilts.

But she also thought she was done having to arrest him for murder.

She doesn't fall asleep until he does.

Kate wakes up alone in bed.

Her chest tightens in sudden panic, but then the door opens, and he walks in, dressed, holding two cups of hot coffee. She lets out a long breath.

They spend the day walking up and down Main Street, stopping in all the little shops. Kate's never been to Iowa before. She's never seen a McDonald's with a sign that says velkommen instead of welcome. The street is lined with unusual stores. Castle's delighted, particularly when they find a store called The Hatchery. The Hatchery, it turns out, used to house chickens. Now it's a souvenir shop. After they prowl through the assortment of knitwear, Castle refuses to leave without buying them matching t-shirts that proudly proclaim "Another Quality Chick" and "I Love Quality Chicks."

In another store, she has to drag him out to stop him from buying the ugliest Norwegian sweater he can find. They stop in a coffeeshop next, then a little used bookstore, and finally a Norwegian heritage museum. In the museum, he loops his arm around her waist, tugging her through exhibits called 200 Years of Quilting and Norwegians in the Civil War. He's fascinated by the mockup of the traditional Norwegian-American prairie home, but Kate finds herself drawn to the folk art collections. Embroidery, traditional dresses, delicate silver jewelry, woodcarving. Every piece is painstaking, crafted by unknown, skilled hands. She's a modern woman who grew up in New York City. The patiently-stitched bunads and lovely embroidered handkerchiefs seem utterly alien.

In the gift shop, she flips through books of Scandinavian fairytales and picks out a postcard for her dad. Castle tugs her arm, pulling her over to a display case. He points to a set of handmade earrings - delicate loops and swirls in silver filigree, small and elegant. "I know this isn't what you had in mind when you said jewelry, but..." His voice trails off hopefully, and she presses a kiss to his cheek.

"They're beautiful."

Dinner, Elsa informs them as she sets plates on the table, is her great-grandmother's original fårikål recipe, brought over from Trondheim. Kate can't quite pronounce it but it's tasty.

That night, she leans into the bathroom as he brushes his teeth. He rinses, spits out the water, before he notices her. "Today was fun."

"Yeah," she smiles. "I like this place."

"I guess I wasn't expecting it to become a survey of Scandinavian cuisine, though."

She smiles, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. "I don't mind."

"Yeah. The krumkake was delicious."

She loops her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his back. "You okay?"

"Yeah." He covers her hands with his, leaning into her body. "Kate - I'm sorry I just - dragged you out here. I know I wasn't really communicating."

"I wouldn't have come if I didn't want to." Besides. He needed her. One look at his devastated face, and she'd have gone anywhere. Iowa didn't seem like too much to ask.

Castle climbs into bed, and after she washes her face and brushes her teeth, she follows, slipping under the heavy covers. The day is still clinging to her, the lightness in his eyes, the sun on her skin, the gentle hum of the small town. The air is fresh here, crisp with the fall leaves, and the relief of feeling safe, without the weight of eyes on her, is cathartic. She feels lighter. The darkness is all back in New York. All she has here is Castle.

Kate turns to face him, an uncertain question on her lips, and finds him watching her with a dark, heated look. She's not sure - she knows he wasn't - but -

His lips cover hers, slow and tentative. His hand traces the line of her hip, and she sighs into his mouth, arching into him as the weight of his body presses hers into the mattress. It's the first time they've made love since. Her shirt hits the floor, his joining it, and under the hazy moonlight she relearns his body, inch by inch.

She shudders apart under his fingers and mouth and body, and when she finally slumps into his arms, exhausted, the cracked edges of her heart are finally coming together again.

They spend their last day in Iowa exploring the trails along the river. He's smiling more. He's Castle again. Even at breakfast, Elsa had mentioned the fresh air seemed to be doing them both good.

He grabs her around the waist and drags her into a pile of crunchy leaves, tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter. She curls up beside him, picking leaves off his shirt. "I like Iowa."

He beams at her. "Maybe Nebraska next time?"

She kisses his cheek. "It's a date."