A/N: The idea for this came in July, when I was in the throes of Castle withdrawal and wondering how the writers would handle Castle and Beckett dating while solving cases. A bunch of ideas for casketty interactions came to mind, and as they did I would just jot them down. Eventually I figured I should put them together, and finally I constructed a case-fic/episode-fic around all those imagined interactions. So, herein you'll find a Beckett-flavoured case which the couple try to solve while still in the early stages of their relationship. In other words, lots of humour and things I thought we would see on the show. This was a lot of fun to write. I hope it's as much fun to read.

Let's say this happens very soon after After the Storm, but Alexis has already moved out. Just go with it, guys. I need them to still be new and shiny and discovering things about each other.

I also want to thank you guys for all the positive feedback for "Afterwards". I was crazy nervous posting that story because it's so sad. You all are truly great and supportive and kind. This story, which is way more pleasant and fun, is my thanks to you.

The story has five parts. I am aiming for one post a day.

It was a gorgeous day out. The sun was shining in the sky, not a single cloud could be seen, and Castle was about to see Beckett after a night apart. What else could a man ask for, he wondered, as the cab he was riding pulled up to the address Beckett had texted him. Their crime scene was at a large fairgrounds within Central Park.

Castle paid the driver and hopped out of the cab, two cups of coffee in hand. He took in his surroundings with a negligent eye, noting the the police cars, the uniforms and the CSU techs. But he stopped really paying attention once he caught sight of Kate who was entering the fairgrounds just ahead of him.

He jogged to catch up with her.

"Good morning," he said to her with a wide, unfettered grin as soon as he was beside her.

If it was anyone else but him floating on such a freakin' huge cloud of bliss, he would've mocked them and teased them mercilessly. But he couldn't bring himself to care that he'd become a giant sap ever since she'd knocked on his door and kissed him. He was too happy to care.

Besides, who could blame him for his massive grin? She was wearing an exceptionally sexy pair of boots today. He didn't mention how good she looked, though, because he'd learned very on in their relationship not to say anything when she looked sexy at work. That just made her change her outfit to a plain white shirt.

"Hi," she said, taking her cup of coffee from him and offering a smile in return. They fell in step as he followed her wherever she was leading.

"I missed you last night," he said, keeping his voice low.

He watched the grin spread over her face, and felt very smugly satisfied with himself: they hadn't even spent last night together, and he could still make her glow like that in the morning.

"How was dinner with Alexis?" she asked.

"Great. She's adjusting really well to living on campus." He sighed, thinking of his daughter. "Too well. You'd think she'd be just a little homesick."

"That's not a bad thing," Beckett gently chastised him. Or consoled him. Sometimes he couldn't tell with her. Maybe it was both. "Besides, it's hard to be homesick when you're lucky enough to get regular dinners with your dad," she gave him a light nudge with her elbow, and he couldn't help but smile.

And then he was completely distracted from his musings when he realized where Beckett was leading him.

"Oh my god!" he nearly squealed at the large green and purple striped tent that loomed at the end of the long path they were walking. "The crime scene is at a circus? How did I not notice this!" The tent was, after all, massive. And was that a caged lion he saw? He then noted the uniformed officer standing by the entrance to the tent and his excitement doubled.

"The crime scene is inside the big tent!" He whipped around to look at Beckett, almost tripping over his feet in the process. "This is amazing! Tell me the victim was a clown! That would be so delightfully dark! Not that clowns were always lighthearted," he pointed out, delighting in one of his favourite pastimes: regaling Beckett with trivia. "Did you know that clowning reportedly dates back to 2400BC? And in the Middle Ages, fools and jesters were the only people in the Court who could answer back to the sitting monarch, even openly criticize them. They acted like a social conscience. Shakespeare actually used fools to great effect."

Beckett was shaking her head at his exuberance, but there was a smile on her face.

"Like in King Lear," she supplied, as she continued walking towards the yellow tape that cordoned off the entrance to the tent, "where the fool openly mocks Lear's misfortunes."

"Exactly," he said, sparing her a pleased, impressed glance. Sometimes he forgot how well-read Katherine Beckett was. "Humour can be a tool for subversion because it gives a voice to the powerless. Clowns can be very useful; they're not about just being funny."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that, Castle: you're plenty funny. Makes up for all those times you aren't useful."

Castle sighed, disappointed with himself. "And I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

Beckett grinned, her eyes sparkling with devilish delight.

"So how do you know so much about clowns?" she asked.

"Went to clown college for a semester," he replied.

"You're kidding."

"Nope, true story. Learned to juggle."

"For research?" she ventured, looking like she maybe didn't want an answer.

"Please," he scoffed. "You know none of my books have killer clowns in them. King already cornered that market. Actually, juggling is a very cool way to impress women. I can't tell you how many times-"

Beckett was quick to cut him off: "And I walked right into that one, didn't I?" she asked wryly.

He nodded. "You did," he said sagely. "Face first. But," he continued, "anytime you want, I can show you all my juggling tricks." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Her only response was to roll her eyes before slipping under the yellow crime scene tape.

"So, Lanie," Beckett called out to his favourite ME. "What have we got?"

Castle took a moment to appreciate Professional Beckett, watching as she shifted her full attention to the case at hand.

"Victim is Bartholomew Derring," Lanie replied. "Preliminary COD is multiple stab wounds, and I'd say he was killed last night between 1AM and 2AM, but I'd have to get him back to the morgue before I could tell you more."

"He was the ringmaster for this Circus - The Little Apple Circus." Esposito, who was standing next to Lanie, supplied. "They travelled all over the state, sometimes Jersey and Pennsylvania, staging shows. Derring was forty-five years of age. His only family is an estranged brother who lives in Idaho."

"Victim's not a clown, then," Castle said, trying not to sound too disappointed as Beckett began her usual intake of the crime scene.

"And thank god for that," Lanie declared. Castle arched an eyebrow in question, surprised by the vehemence of Lanie's reply. "Clowns give me the heebie-jeebies," she said, shaking herself off. "They're creepy. What kind of grown man puts on face make-up and makes an ass of himself in public, while being sober?"

"I'm with you on that," Esposito agreed. "Not natural."

"Actually," Castle said, "clowning has a rich history. By some accounts, it dates back to 2400BC."

Esposito looked at Castle like he was crazy, Lanie looked at him like he was an impertinent annoyance. He found Lanie to be infinitely more scary.

"What," he said, a tad defensively, "it's true."

"Anyways," Esposito said, giving Castle one last look, "no witnesses so far. I spoke with a couple of the cleaning staff who were taking a smoke behind the tent, and they say they heard - and I quote - 'thumping noises' at around 2AM. They didn't pay much attention to it at the time, though. They're both new custodians here, and they figured the more senior members were practicing their acts. It's not unusual for rehearsals to go late."

Castle examined the crime scene. Bartholomew Derring was dressed in a tuxedo, his white shirt now covered in blood. The victim was on a wooden stage that sat in the middle of the big ring, his body slumped against a tall, rectangular wooden board that was nailed into the stage. A giant red target sign was painted on the centre of the board.

"What's the setup for?" Castle asked, waving a hand at the large target.

"I talked to a stagehand," Esposito replied. "He said the knife thrower, Daniel Exeter, uses this stage for his act. He also said some members of the circus troop had been up late rehearsing for their show today, so he left the stage standing when he called it a night. This was around 9PM. He came back this morning at 5AM to take the stage down in preparation for the show, and he found the body."

"Knife thrower?" Beckett raised an eyebrow. She ran her gloved fingers over the deep knife indentations that dotted the softwood all around Derring's body. "And our victim was stabbed. Maybe the murder weapon is from Exeter's collection of knives?"

"Ryan is with CSU right now, they're searching Exeter's trailer."

"The body almost looks posed," Beckett observed, taking a walk around the stage.

"You mean, like a ritual murder?" Espo asked.

"No," Castle and Beckett both said at the same time. Castle flashed his partner a quick grin before answering Espo's question. "Looks like he was posed after the murder; not that his murder was part of a ritual. The stab wounds are too haphazard for that."

"Given the blood spatter pattern," Beckett said, pointing to the pool around the body, "the vic wasn't stabbed against the target board. It looks like our killer put the vic in sitting position after he or she killed him."

"That's a strange thing to do," Castle observed. "Maybe the killer knew the vic?"

Beckett gently pulled aside the victim's tuxedo vest to get a closer look at the stab wounds. "There doesn't seem to be much method to the stabbing," she looked at Lanie..

"From what I can tell," Lanie said, "I'd agree. It doesn't look like the killer knew what he was supposed to be aiming for. He just kept stabbing until the job was done. I can confirm it once I get back to the lab, but I doubt I'd even be able to tell you which wound killed our vic."

"Could be a crime of passion. In the heat of the moment, maybe?" Castle supplied. "And then the killer felt bad and propped the vic back up in a show of remorse?"

"We should check if Derring had any enemies," Beckett agreed. "His murderer likely knew him." She frowned as she examined the body. "Lanie, what are these white smudges on the vic's hands?"

"I took a sample for the lab so we'll have to wait confirmation," Lanie replied, "but it looks like makeup."

"Clown makeup!" Castle exclaimed. "I bet it's clown make-up! We might have a killer clown on our hands!"

"Told you they're not natural," Esposito said to Lanie. She nodded in agreement.

Just then, Ryan entered the big tent. "Hey," he said in greeting to Beckett and Castle. "CSU found a suitcase full of knives in Exeter's trailer. One of the knives has blood on the handle. They're bagging and tagging as we speak."

"Let's bring him in for questioning," Beckett said.

"I'll let uniforms know," Ryan nodded.

"Oh," Castle said, crestfallen at the thought of such a simple solve at a place as exciting as the circus.

"Bro, turn that frown upside down," Espo scolded. "Why do you always want complicated murders?"

"Yeah, don't go jinxing our case like that," Ryan said.

"Mr. Exeter," Beckett said as she took a seat across from the knife thrower in interrogation one. If she had met Daniel Exeter on the street, she would never have guessed that he was a knife-thrower by profession. She in fact would have supposed he was either a graduate student, worked in computer programming, or ran a blog featuring cats. He was lanky, with a nerdy look, and a general air of eager innocence. She had no doubt though, that the knife thrower also had nerves of steel.

"Look," Exeter said, without needing any prompting. He leaned forward in his chair. "I know why you want to talk to me. Derring was stabbed, and I'm a knife thrower. I have a trailer full of knives. Literally." He looked from Beckett to Castle and back. "But I didn't..." he fumbled, not quite sure which words he could use. "I didn't do it."

Beckett raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Exeter seemed the type to ramble to fill silences, so she decided to wait him out.

"I didn't!" he defended. "Look, I spoke to Derring last night in the big tent, okay, I did," he admitted, running a hand over his face. "But he was still alive when I left. Besides, throwing knives are actually pretty dull."

Her initial strategy validated, Beckett stepped in. "Even a dull knife, wielded with enough force, can be a murder weapon," she said. That effectively silenced Exeter. She saw the nervousness in his eyes and in the bob of his Adam's apple. "At what time did you last see Bartholomew Derring?"

"Uh," Exeter swallowed heavily. "Around 11 or so."

"And where did you go after that?"

"To the open mic night at the Jarvis Club. I had a set."

"Open mic?" Castle asked.

"Yeah, you know, stand-up comedy. I'm pretty good at it."

Castle looked disbelieving.

"What?" Exeter said. "I am. I don't want to be a knife-thrower forever, you know."

Beckett decided to get the interview back into focus. "Can you explain the blood stains we found on one of the knives in your trailer?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed, confidence renewed. "I'm a knife thrower, I sometimes cut myself on my own knives."

"On your dull knives?" Castle asked, scepticism painted over his features.

Exeter startled, and was quick to backtrack. "No! I mean, yes most of my knives are dull, but Derring wanted me to make the act more dangerous. You know, more risky. He said we needed more thrills in the show because business was bad, so I was trying out different kinds of knives, sharper knives." He shook his head. "It wasn't working out so well. That's what I was trying to tell Derring last night, except he wasn't listening. He wasn't even paying attention to me. He was all distracted. But I was done with it. I sold the sharp knives to a pawn shop in Brooklyn right before my act."

"If that's the case, would you be willing to provide a blood sample?" Beckett asked. "And the pawn shop's address."

"To clear my name, of course," he replied, and then began unbuttoning and rolling up his right sleeve. He showed his hand and forearm to them: a series of thin scratches were visible on his palm, along with a deep cut on the web of skin by his thumb. "See," he said, his tone was almost pleading, begging to be believed. "I'm not a very good with sharp knives," he added, "they kind of freak me out."

Beckett studied Exeter. So much for nerves of steel. She wondered if his nervous fumbling was an act. She did know, however, that the cut by his thumb could easily have been obtained in the course of stabbing Derring.

"And people let you throw knives at them?" Castle asked, perplexed as he looked from the cuts on Exeter's hand to his face.

"Well, Sheri is my primary assistant..." Exeter frowned, not quite understanding the question's relevance. "Besides knife throwing is about the illusion of danger. Knives are dull and the wood is soft. It's all in the showmanship. People get scared and thrilled because they expect to feel that way. Like with all circus acts."

A quick knock sounded on the door, followed by Esposito poking his head in. He gestured for a word with Beckett.

"Wait here," Beckett said to Exeter as she and Castle both stood to join the other detective.

"CSU's results just came in," Esposito said, closing the door behind them. "Blood on the knife is not a match to our vic. Lanie is going to compare the stab wounds to see if there's a match for any of Exeter's knives, but for now we don't have any evidence linking Exeter to the crime, besides the fact that he owns the knives."

"That's not enough to hold him," Beckett acknowledged. "He said he sold one set of knives to a pawnshop in Brooklyn. We need to verify the story."

"Got it," Espo said. And then shook his head and gave Castle a dirty look. "This is on you. You jinxed it," he said with disdain.

"Wha-?" Castle raised his hands in a gesture of innocence.

Beckett's phone rang, interrupting the writer from saying much more.

"Lanie," Beckett greeted, putting the phone on speaker. "What's up?"

"Labs just came back on the white substance we found on the vic's jacket," the M.E. replied. "It's clown makeup alright. The stuff is thick and doesn't rub-off too easily; some significant contact was required to transfer the makeup onto the vic's clothes. There was also some of the same makeup beneath Derring's fingernails."

Castle's eyes lit up, while Espo shuddered.

"I also found a light brown hair on the jacket," Lanie continued, "and I'm running the specs on that. I'm going to look at the stab wounds next. I'll call when I have an update."

"Thanks, Lanie," Beckett said.

"You got it," she replied, before disconnecting.

Beckett turned to Esposito, but before she could say anything, Espo cut her off: "how about you and Castle take the clown? I'll track down the knives and speak with the other performers, see if I can dig up anyone who had bad blood with the vic."

She arched an eyebrow, a teasing gleam in her eye. "You afraid of clowns, Espo?"

"No. What?" he replied, not very convincingly. "Me? Afraid? I'm not afraid."

"Uh huh," Beckett teased. Castle was grinning from ear to ear.

"What?" he glared at Castle, because that was easier than glaring at her.

"This day just keeps getting better," Castle said, his glee evident. "Coulrophobia," he gave Esposito a look that was somehow both sympathetic and mocking. "That's the technical term for a fear of clowns."

"I'll show you a technical term," the detective threatened. He looked between Castle and Beckett. "This is crazy. I have work to do. Important case work." He turned on his heel and left, muttering as he walked away.

Castle and Beckett shared a grin.

"Best. Case. Ever!" Castle declared.