Author's Note: I didn't, and still don't, intend to start writing Absentia fic. I'm certainly not abandoning the Castle fandom! But after Absentia episode 4 this idea was stuck in my head and I had to get it out. So here it is.

This is one possible interpretation of the scene in question. I'm not convinced that I believe it, but I found it interesting to play with. If you don't like it, that's fine! But please keep all comments civil.

Emily has a plan, and it's going to work. As soon as he touches her, it will work.

Everything has changed, including Nick - he seems to have aged more than six years - but he's still the man she married, and she knows him. Her plan will work. She doesn't let herself feel guilty about deceiving him. That can come later. She knows it will.

Her plan will work. As soon as he touches her.

She has to get herself free. This is the only way she can think of to do it.

It works.

It's easy enough to get him across the room. She lets her hands tremble - that takes no effort at all - and turns so that he can see. She doesn't look at him, and that's what brings him over.

She doesn't take the initiative, not like she would have, like she did so many times, way back when. Everything's different now. She waits for him to touch. She waits for him to kiss.

As soon as he touches her he's lost.

As soon as he touches her she's lost.

When he kisses her she thinks she might have made a mistake. Her plan is working and she doesn't know if she can bear it. She kisses him back.

She's been fooling him, but not herself. She wants him so much. She's being more selfish than she has ever been in her life, ever, ever. She just craves his touch so badly after so long. His kiss, so achingly familiar, devastates her.

He drops his jacket and she pulls off her shirt. He touches her bare skin, her scars. It doesn't matter. As soon as he touched her, it didn't matter. He lowers her to the bed and they're both lost.

She bares herself to his gaze and watches his eyes cloud over, with lust and a thousand other things. She doesn't care. She can't let herself care. He laces their fingers together just like he always used to.

When he presses inside her she can't hold back her gasp. It's been so very long, she's so tight, and even though he goes slowly, it hurts. She loves how it hurts. She grips his shoulders and opens her thighs wider and welcomes him in.

It feels so good. It hurts and it feels so good and she's lost. She can't even think as he rocks above her. She can't remember that this was the plan. She can't remember why she feels so guilty. He's back where he belongs.

He sits up, taking her with him, and she wraps herself around him and her heart is breaking.

She shudders around him again and again until he moans in surrender.

His hips are still jerking lightly underneath her when she pulls away, peeling her sweat-sticky skin from his. She collapses on the bed, keeping her eyes closed so she won't have to see the too-late guilt flood across his face. She can't see that. It would break her all over again.

She hears him get up and stand there for a long moment, hesitating, still breathing hard and fast. She knows he's looking at her, but she keeps her eyes shut. He can think whatever he wants - that she fell asleep, that she's ashamed, anything. It doesn't matter. She can't let herself care.

As soon as she hears the bathroom door close she's in motion. A handful of scratchy hotel tissues to wipe the worst of it from her thighs. Another handful wadded in her underwear, and she yanks on her jeans, shoves her feet into her shoes, grabs her backpack, and slips out. She's a ghost. The door closes almost silently.

She's down the hallway and outside and down the sidewalk, her thighs aching, her chest aching, her throat aching. Her heart is broken.

Her plan worked, and she's lost.