Ring Out, Wild Bells, a castle fanfic

Author's Notes: Written for yuletide 2010. This is long and mystery centric, but features some relationship development for Castle and Beckett too. It's roughly set during the current timeline.

She got the phone call around dawn on the twenty second of December, just before the first real light from the sun warmed the city. Josh was already up and dressed, half an hour away from being out the door and on his way to rounds. He handed her a coffee cup while she buttoned her shirt. She managed a sip, and murmured her thanks, but set it aside.

"I've got a case," she said, eyeing the bitter beverage with regret.

He shrugged as if to say suit yourself and started in on his second cup of the day which enthusiasm. She rummaged around his bedroom floor for her other shoe.

"You'll call when it's done?" he asked as she fastened the zipper of her boot.

She nodded, then, realising she hadn't asked, said, "What are your plans for the holidays?"

"Well," he paused, "I drew one of the short straws, gotta be back in the city by 6pm on the 25th, I'm on call. Heading upstate to the family day after tomorrow, but I'll be around before that."

She nodded again, "Hopefully this will be an easy one. I'll call you."

"I'm pulling doubles at the hospital trying to clear my schedule before my break, but I might be able to squeeze you in."

There was innuendo behind the words but she didn't smile. She was distracted with the task of clipping her badge to her belt.

"Ok," she took a step towards the door, thoughts already on the case, then turned back, looking apologetic. "Happy holidays," she offered, just in case, and he gave her a quick kiss, the half-full coffee cup hanging awkwardly in his hand between them.

"You too," he replied and watched her leave over the brim of the mug.

His thoughts lingered on her for a few minutes, but then he recalled a particularly troubling patient, and ran over the case notes in his head, searching for an answer that was not yet apparent. Work was work - that was something they definitely had in common - and their mutual love of their respective jobs meant the long hours and unpredictable phone calls at all hours weren't a source of resentment on either side.

But while he did spare her a second thought after she left, her thoughts were entirely elsewhere - a rear access alley next to a storage facility in the Garment district to be precise, where a man dressed as Santa Clause had been found dead. With a purpose in her stride she reached in her pocket for her cell phone and dialled her partner's number.

"Detective Beckett," he greeted her, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Dead body on west 34th street," she skipped the pleasantries and rattled off the address the officer on the phone had given her, "It seems the Grinch killed Santa Clause."

"Seriously?" he asked her.

"Yes?" she was confused.

"Looks like Santa didn't get his miracle on 34th street then," he quipped.

She groaned.

"Well, my day is looking up," he said, cheerfully.

He always sounded far too pleased at the prospect of murder.

"Mine isn't," she muttered, mostly to no one because he had already hung up.

Lanie was crouched over the portly victim when she approached.

"What have we got?" she asked her friend, snapping on gloves.

"Don't you want to wait for your boy?"

"Present," Castle called from behind her, "And the bearer of gifts. Well, of coffee. There might be donuts too, but I left those with the unies so it could be slim pickings."

"One of these days, writer boy over here is going to remember my order," Lanie narrowed her eyes.

"Doctor Parish, I'm affronted," he held up a tray bearing four cups in one hand, "Your skim chai latte, extra foam, is right here. But you might want to finish up with St Nick here first."

Castle wrinkled his nose at the thought of mixing beverages and bodies.

"Yes, can we get to the dead guy?" Kate huffed, impatient, but plucked her coffee from the tray with a small, appreciative smile.

"He's cold," Lanie said, "But that's no surprise because so am I. Liver temp will tell us more once I get him to the lab, but unfortunately because the temperature was so low last night, rigor is pretty useless. What I can tell you is probably what you can see - the victim was stabbed, several times in the abdomen but that may not be what killed him. The swelling in the face and the giant boot mark on his neck suggest otherwise. You'll have to wait until I do my full autopsy to know for sure, but it doesn't change the fact that someone really had it out for this guy."

"So bottom line, he was stabbed then someone stood on his neck to finish the job," Beckett summarised, clearing the facts in her mind. "Did he have ID on him?"

Lanie shook her head, "The boys have got people looking for it now."

Kate sighed, "What are the odds we'll get lucky?"

Castle looked at her sideways, but wisely chose to remain silent. The medical examiner caught his train of thought though, because she rewarded him with a conspiring glance and a small laugh before standing and peeling of her gloves, "I'll be taking that tea now," she demanded her pay off with an open palm, "Too bad it's probably cold."

Castle shrugged his apology and trotted off in pursuit of his muse, who was bringing Ryan and Esposito up to speed.

"So, what've you found?" she asked.

"Nothing you're going to like," Ryan reported.

"No ID, no murder weapon. We did find Santa's sack though," Esposito told her, "Full of presents too. As far as we can tell, they're real, so it's not a prop."

"It's a public place, so CSU didn't turn up anything particular useful at the scene," Ryan continued, "A few cigarette butts, and this." He held up a bloodstained white beard, carefully preserved in a large plastic bag, "But they're still looking."

"Ok," she processed the new information, "We should head back to the precinct. Ryan, ask Lanie if she's run the fingerprints when you get back, maybe this guy has priors. Esposito, check with missing persons."

Esposito groaned at the thought of manually sifting through the thousands of unsolved disappearances on file with the NYPD.

Beckett made a chiding noise and waved them on their way.

"Come on," she gestured for the writer to follow her and made her way back to her car.

"You're awfully quiet this morning," she commented as she threw the car into reverse, eyes in the rear view mirror.

He shrugged. "I was treated to a rather unpleasant Christmas gift last night."

His cryptic answer piqued her interest. She turned to face him for a second in the gridlocked traffic, "Oh?"

"Gina decided it would be best if we called it quits before the holiday season."

"Ah," her eyes snapped back to the road at the sound of a cabbie's horn blaring. The traffic had started moving. Castle made a particularly rude gesture between the seats in response to the other driver's road rage. Beckett pulled his hand down and hissed his name. "That's no excuse to do that."

"The jerk was overreacting."

She rolled her eyes, "I meant Gina, but either way. I'm a cop Castle. At least preserve my integrity if you won't preserve your own dignity."

"Sorry," he said, genuinely contrite.

Her hand still rested on his, "So am I. About Gina, I mean."

He shrugged and pulled his hand away, "It wasn't the first time."

That particular admission gave her mind something to chew on as they waited at the next stoplight. It hadn't really occurred to her before that Castle might not be entirely responsible for the breakdown of his marriages. Well, she knew that Meredith had left him, but he didn't often talk about his marriage to Gina. "Hmm," she offered him.

He mistook her thoughtful expression for preoccupation with the case. Really she was thinking that it had escaped his notice that she hadn't had time to go home to change, and that was nothing short of a Christmas miracle. Lanie had given her a knowing eye from head to toe, and the last thing she needed was the two of them ganging up on her to tease her about 'walks of shame'.

"So, why kill Santa?" Castle put it to her as she parked at the precinct.

She shrugged, "Maybe our killer was given a lump of coal last year?"

It did elicit a grin from the writer, but she was fascinated to note that it lacked something of its usual wattage.

"We won't know more until we get an ID on our victim," she sighed, his mood was draining her energy, "Lanie's running fingerprints and the boys are checking with missing persons now."

Esposito was waiting for them as they entered the bullpen, "Vic's name was Jake Littleton. The cop on the night shift down at missing persons remembered a woman calling late last night, worried that her husband hadn't come home. She was pretty hysterical, so even though he couldn't file the report, he took her details. Her husband matched the description of our vic, so we pulled his DMV photo," Esposito held a head shot of the victim from the crime scene and the somehow less flattering photo that had graced his driver's license, "It was a match."

"Ok," she said, grabbing the driver's license photo and sticking it to the clean whiteboard with a small magnet, "What do we know?"

"Not a whole lot," Ryan joined the conversation, "Mrs Littleton's on her way in now. But other than a single speeding ticket five years ago, he's clean."

"Well, we know he was dressed as Santa Clause," Castle pointed out. She spared him a glance, but relented, writing that fact beside the victim's head shot. "I doubt that will be relevant in a murder like this, but OK Castle."

"It's just odd, is all," he was building a wild theory behind his eyes, she could tell. "I mean, yes there's probably hundreds of Santas in the city at this time of year, but it can't pay very well and did you see the vehicle registration under his name?" he leaned over and tapped at it in the file Ryan had given her. The victim had driven a five-year old BMW. "That's not a cheap car. So maybe Santa was running a little something on the side. Spreading a little Christmas cheer, as it were. Drugs? Guns? Ooh, state secrets?"

"Let's wait until we talk to the wife," she feigned a sigh and cut him off before he could mention his favourite three letter acronym, but was pleased to see his spirits rally. She should have expected that though, she couldn't imagine Castle staying down for long. "Ryan," she ordered, "Keep going with that background check, as far back as you can. Esposito, can you get me a copy of the paperwork at missing persons? I know it was never filed, but see if someone down there kept it."

Her team busied themselves leaving her and her partner staring at the face of the deceased, as though the photograph might reveal some clue.

The victim's wife arrived at the precinct mid-morning, just as Beckett's caffeine high was beginning to wane. The armchairs they were sitting in were a lot more sleep-conducive than her usual chair and part of her longed to stretch out and close her eyes. Instead, she introduced herself and Castle, who the woman had already recognised. She was making gaga eyes at him. Castle, to his credit, looked a little taken aback but then, smoothly as ever, reached over and shook her hand, telling her he'd happily sign a book for her sometime.

Two things became clear to Beckett from this display - Mrs Littleton had not been informed of her husband's murder and the wife was a flirt. She made a note to check the spouse for extramarital relationships. "Mrs Littleton," she interjected when appropriate, "I understand you called missing persons yesterday evening about your husband."

"Please, call me Emily." The blonde woman nodded, "When Jake didn't come home I started to worry. He's never ... done this before. He always came home when he said he would, and if he was going to be late, he'd always call. We've been working very hard on open, honest communication with our therapist."

That set off alarm bells. Castle noticed it too, she could see him gauging her reaction in her peripheral vision.

"Emily," Beckett said, gently, "I'm with the NYPD's homicide division. Unfortunately, we've asked you down here today because we believe we found your husband's body this morning."

Her reaction to the news seemed genuine. Her face went completely white and she let out a single, silent cry before hiding her face in her hands. Her shoulders were shaking. Beckett reached over and touched her on the shoulder briefly before pushing a box of tissues towards her. A few moments of controlled breathing later and the woman had regained her composure. Her eyes were red, but her face was still deathly white. Her hands were clenched into fists in her lap.

"I knew," she managed to say, barely above a whisper, "I knew when he didn't come home that something was wrong. Oh God."

"Take your time Emily," Castle gave her a small encouraging smile.

"Is this your husband?" Beckett pushed over a photo Lanie had taken before beginning her superficial examination in the morgue.

The other woman nodded, wiping at her eyes when a fresh wave of tears spilled over her cheeks, "He's ... he's pretty beat up but yes, that's Jake."

"Do you have any idea what he was doing yesterday evening?" Beckett continued her questions, methodically and slowly giving Emily time to answers and herself time to study her facial expressions.

"Yes, he was ... he was volunteering at an annual holiday party for a local children's charity," her voice nearly broke on the last word of her sentence. "He was bringing the gifts our local drive had collected for disadvantaged and sick kids."

It seemed their Santa was a good Samaritan. Since he was found without a wallet, perhaps it had been a simple case of a robbery gone wrong?

"He was meant to go straight from work," his wife continued, "He took the car, but I don't know where he would have parked it. He works uptown, so he probably drove down there. We live on Long Island."

Beckett nodded, making another note to find the car, "What business is your husband in?"

They continued in this fashion for nearly an hour. Castle retreated to the break room and returned with three coffees. The women thanked him.

"I'm sorry Emily, I hope you understand, I have to ask you some hard questions now."

Emily nodded, "Anything I can do to help detective."

"You mentioned that you and your husband were in therapy?"

"Yes," she wrung her hands together, "We have been seeing a grief counsellor for nearly a year now. You see, last year, just before Christmas we lost our son, Jeremy. Jeremy was a premmie, his lungs weren't properly developed. One moment he was healthy, the next a common cold had killed him. It was difficult Detective, but I love ... I loved my husband, and my baby, so we went to counselling because the statistics aren't good. After losing a child nine out of ten couples divorce. We didn't want that, but we knew it would take work."

Beckett got the distinct feeling she was an asshole for asking her next question, "I have to ask you for an alibi Emily," she fingered the handle of her mug but maintained eye contact, "Last night, between seven and eleven, could you run through your evening for me?"

"I left work around six," she told them, "I arrived at the train station and drove home, but the traffic was terrible. I think I got home around seven thirty, the alarm company should be able to check because I had to turn off the security. I talked to my mother on the phone for a few hours after I ate dinner then I fixed a plate for Jake and went to bed. I woke up around 2 am and was surprised when he wasn't home. That's when I called the police."

"You rang the police in Manhattan from your home in Long Island?" Castle smelled rat.

"Perhaps I should be more clear, Mr Castle, I rang everyone. I rang Jake's cell about a million times. I tried the venue the party was meant to be at - I thought maybe he had stayed later than he intended. And I tried several of our friends in the city, in case he'd had a few too many and couldn't drive. After a friend who had attended the event told me Jake never showed, I rang all the major hospitals between the charity event and home. And I called police all over the state. I overreacted," she admitted, "But I was so worried. That kind of behaviour is incredibly out of character for my husband."

"Ok," Beckett wrapped up the interview by giving Emily her card, "Thanks for your help Emily. If you think of anything else, please, let us know."

After the woman left and she had returned to her less comfortable office chair, Beckett focussed her attention on her partner.

"So, what do you think?" she asked.

"Didn't do it," Castle declared authoritatively, "Although she did give an alibi rather quickly."

"She described a rather quiet evening at home," she countered. "And the times she gave match up with our record of her call to missing persons. But we'll check it out."

"Still," he drummed his fingers against her desk, "Something tells me she didn't do it, and this time it's not just because it would make a terribly boring story."

"Statistically, one of these days, it's going to have to be the spouse," Beckett complained, "But I'm inclined to agree with you."

"It's a Christmas miracle," he deadpanned.

She threw a paper clip at him.

By lunchtime, Ryan's background check was nearly complete and Esposito had put in requests for the victims financials and phone records, and checked with the security company to confirm the wife's alibi. The boys had disappeared across the road for burgers just seconds after Lanie called her with preliminary findings from the morgue. An invitation had been extended to Castle and Beckett, but Castle had made a face, "A cheeseburger and fries before a trip to the morgue? No thanks."

The detectives had laughed at his squeamish stomach.

"I hope you know, this means you're buying lunch after we're done with Lanie," she informed him as they stepped into the elevator.

"You'll thank me later," he assured her, "I don't care how used to it you are, morgue smell is not pleasant on a full stomach."

"Lanie might be mid autopsy by now," she teased, "Are you sure you want to eat after you watch her cut a heart out of an open chest cavity?"

"I'm oddly curious and at the same time repulsed," he cocked his head to one side. "A common affliction."

"Didn't you hear about curiosity and cats Castle?"

"Dog person myself," he told her. "Though I don't mind the odd feline."

The banter continued good-naturedly until their voices were echoing in the corridor outside Lanie's examination room. The medical examiner caught the end of their spirited debate of the virtues of both pets as she was sucking down the last of her lunchtime beverage. She shot Kate a knowing look as they entered the room, "Picking out a pet together? How domestic."

She was rewarded with a glare from the detective.

Castle shrugged, "Not if she wants a yappy little handbag dog. I want an animal companion, not an accessory."

"Anyway," Beckett tapped her foot, "I heard you had something for us."

Castle continued as though she hadn't spoken which earned him a solid elbow to the ribs, "Though I suppose all the ladies do love the adorable small dogs."

"If you two are done with the foreplay," Lanie said, which shut them up immediately - Castle because he was mulling over a flirtatious reply and Beckett because she couldn't decide where to be annoyed or embarrassed which naturally only added to her embarrassment.

"Esposito told me you got an ID," the medical examiner began, pulling back her sheet to reveal the victim's face, "Which is lucky, because I ran his prints and turned up nothing. He's never been arrested and he wasn't in any government personnel databases either."

"He's squeaky clean," Beckett confirmed, "I was hoping for cause of death?"

"Well, I'm still waiting on the biochemical tests and I ran toxicology to be safe, but I don't expect anything there. I haven't finished a full autopsy but I can tell you that the stab wounds didn't kill him. Petechial haemorrhaging is evident on closer examination and his trachea is crushed. An injury like that would have been fatal fast, so he didn't have a chance to bleed out. I'm just preserving the brain in formalin now," she gestured to her workspace. Castle investigated but quickly made a face at the smell.

"In a week or so we'll have more results, there should be histological evidence in the brain tissue. But for now, I'm confident that your victim here was killed by inadequate supply of oxygen to the brain because someone was shoving their boot against his throat. I took some photos of the shoe imprint on his neck and sent them up to CSU, one of the computer guys is trying to put together a print for you, but from the width of the imprint, I'd say you're looking for an average sized guy."

Kate nodded and Castle's fingers extended towards Lanie's instrument tray. The doctor slapped his hand away, "Trust me, you don't wanna touch those. He struggled," she continued, lifting the victim's hand to show her audience the extensive bruising on his knuckles, "And I lifted some skin from under his fingernails. I'm waiting to hear back from the lab techs about DNA. Same goes for the blood samples at the scene and on the wig. They're short-staffed because of the holiday, so it could take a while," she warned.

"I'm sure it's the same in all the labs," the detective observed.

Lanie nodded, "And I'm out from Friday, but I'm sure you two are planning on cracking this thing wide open by then. I'll finish up here today and tomorrow, should have report on your desk before I head out to Jersey to see my folks."

"Thanks Lanie," Kate smiled across the gurney at her friend. "Stop by before you leave ok?"

"Mmhmm," the doctor nodded.

"Merry Christmas Doctor Parish," Castle gave her a kiss on the cheek on their way out.

Beckett eyed him strangely, but he didn't have a chance to mull over it because once again he was several steps behind her. He quickened his pace to catch up.

Things moved slowly from there, with departments running short on personnel and the world at large winding down for the holiday season longer than usual waits were to be expected. Kate knew this, but it was still frustrating. She'd called her father on their way in from lunch to tentatively cancel their Christmas plans.

Castle shook his head at her, "You shouldn't be working on Christmas Day."

She shrugged, "It's better than going to Chicago and back just for dinner, and I can't take leave now, not with an active case. I'd be preoccupied anyway."

"So let's solve this thing," he was enthused, "Can't have Christmas with the unsolved murder of Santa."

"Right," she stood and began updating the murder board.

Ryan and Esposito had taken an unusually long lunch. Beckett suspected they were playing hooky to shop for Jenny's Christmas present, but since the phones weren't ringing and they were at an impasse for the time being, she didn't reprimand them when they slunk back into the office after two thirty.

It didn't take long to collate the sum total of what they knew, because it wasn't much. Beckett was inclined to believe the wife's story, so they had to interview the people involved in the charity event Jake was meant to attend, but they were still trying to get a hold of the event manager. Uniforms had canvassed the area around the crime scene, but no witnesses had come forward. She'd released a small notice to the press, but it wouldn't run until the morning at the earliest and this time of year, it was likely to be missed.

They were still waiting for financial records and the phone company had told Ryan to ring back in the late afternoon.

Castle was fidgetty and it was starting to grate on her nerves.

"So, what we know so far is that Santa had a wife and they'd lost a child, he was on his way to a charity toy drive and he was found dead early this morning by garbage collectors collecting waste from a dumpster in the alley."

The timeline was scarcely worth sketching, but she did anyway.

"We need to find that car," she mused. "And we should talk to his colleagues at the law firm he worked for."

Castle nodded.

The law firm blew them off until the morning, despite her insistence that it was an urgent matter. She tasked Castle and his wonder phone with the task of locating parking garages in the area. "The charity event was at an office building on 8th and 35th," she told him, "And he was coming from the west along 35th street. So anything within a two block radius from there."

He gave the list of possible garages to Ryan and Esposito, who arranged for uniforms to search for them for the car.

Beckett tapped her pen against the whiteboard. "There's nothing here."

"Not yet," Castle's voice echoed her frustration.

"Gotta wild theory to cheer a girl up Castle?"

"Why Detective Beckett, if I didn't know better I'd say you just admitted to enjoying my theories."

"And if I didn't know better that was your way of saying you don't have one yet," she retorted.

"I admit, this one has me puzzled. Maybe it's a case of a disgruntled employee at the North Pole? I've heard working conditions for the elves are terrible. They're unionising. Tensions are running high, there's whispers of a strike."

She rolled her eyes. "Give up on the Santa thing, that's already been explained."

Castle sat around the precinct for a few hours watching her do paperwork, but he wasn't doing much for her three-thirty restlessness. She sent him home to his family and started reviewing her case notes for several court appearances she had in the New Year.

By Thursday morning they had financial and phone records and the victim's car had been located. Not a lot was to be garnered from the vehicle. He had a GPS system installed which told them he'd driven his car to work in the morning and then to the parking garage at five. His wallet was in the car, which ruled out robbery. It added a few more details to their timeline, but it wasn't much.

Ryan and Esposito returned to the precinct to go over the financial information to look for anomalies, while Castle made lawyer jokes on their way to interview the victim's colleagues.

His boss, one of the firm's senior partners, wasn't particularly useful. He said the usual things and was concerned about PR for the firm, but hadn't noticed anything unusual about his employee. He gave them a client list that conspicuously lacked details and told them they'd need a warrant for the rest. Castle looked at her sideways as they left his office. Once the door was shut behind her he turned to her and said, "Hey Beckett, how many lawyers does it take to stop a moving bus?"

She gave him a Look.

"Never enough," he grinned, "Especially when they're like that guy."

Mercifully, that seemed to be the last joke he knew about the profession of their victim and the secretary proved more useful than the boss. She told them about a man who came in to the office the previous week for a meeting that ended in a shouting match with Jake Littleton. At first, the secretary had thought, it was about a case, but by the end she wasn't so sure.

"Did he have an appointment?" Beckett asked.

The secretary consulted her Outlook calendar.

"He rang that morning and insisted I fit him in. He said he was an old friend of Jake's. His name was Steve Henderson."

Beckett nodded and jotted down the name. Castle also made a note of it in his cell phone.

On their way out, she stopped and requested security footage of the lobby on the date of Steve Henderson's appointment with Jake.

"Ryan and Esposito will be thrilled," Castle smirked.

"We're going to have to talk to the boss again," she remarked, "We'll need his work computer but they're not going to want to hand it over." At Castle's blank look she added, "He's a lawyer, attorney-client privilege."

"Ah," Castle rubbed his hands together, "Secrets he took to the grave."

"Anyway, it's going to be a pain getting a warrant this close to Christmas. Most of the courts have adjourned for the holidays, and most of the judges are out of town."

"I can always ring the mayor," he offered.

"Don't you think you might have used the last of your favours?" she wondered, curious.

"The man's wife is a fan, his marital bliss depends on me."

"Never let it be said that the man doesn't give himself enough credit."

"Speaking of which, did the financials turn up anything interesting?" he opened the door to the passenger seat.

"Esposito says no, but I asked them to re-check the phone records to see if Steve Henderson's cell number comes up."

She answered her cell as they entered the precinct, "Beckett."

"Steve Henderson and our vic talked twice on the day he died," Ryan told her, "Once in the morning and once around four thirty."

"Hmm, that might explain why our victim left work early to drive downtown," she thought out loud, "The wife said the charity event wasn't supposed to start until seven, so he would have no other reason to leave work early."

"It gets better," Ryan promised her, "We ran Steve Henderson. He's some bigshot CEO, involved in a bunch of tax evasion charges, but get this, he was reported missing by his secretary on Wednesday evening."

"We're on our way in now," Beckett thanked him for the information and hung up, filling Castle in on the latest developments.

They spent the afternoon following up the lead and accidentally uncovered a suspicious connection: the victim's wife worked for Steve Henderson. She denied the possibility that Steve and Jake knew each other. Beckett's instinct told her this was the extramarital affair she was looking for. She went for the paydirt. Surprisingly, Emily broke down and confessed to the affair. "But Jake never found out. It was... it was just a few times, after we lost Jeremy. Things were really hard and Jake was so devastated I just, I didn't know what to. And once Steve found out I was married, he broke it off."

The interview was incriminating to say the least. It gave Steve Henderson a pretty good motive for murder. That, combined with his sudden disappearance, made Beckett nervous. She had Esposito take appropriate action before they left the office building.

Back at the precinct, Ryan had discovered something odd in the background checks he had been performing. "I went as far back as I could go," he told her and Castle, as Esposito waited on hold with TSA, "Both on our vic and this Henderson guy. Wanted to make sure I caught any possible connection. But it's the strangest thing, I got back to 1990 when both Henderson and Littleton were in college on opposite coasts and there the trail ends," he said dramatically, "There's not a single trace of either of them before 1990."

"They assumed new identities," Beckett surmised.

"Yeah, but I checked births and deaths in the year both of them should have been born for the names they're using, and it appears to be above board."

"Which means it's witness protection," Castle looked positively delighted.

"Not necessarily," Beckett curbed his enthusiasm slightly, "They could have forged documents. But we should contact the federal marshals and see what they've got for us."

"Well," Castle clapped his hands together, "This case officially got exciting."

"I want to canvass the area around the parking garage, see if any of the local business owners remember seeing or hearing our victim or Henderson. And I want you to get a copy of the missing persons report and talk to the officer to took the call. Anything out of the ordinary he can remember would be useful. Esposito, put the pressure on TSA, I want to find this guy."

"Maybe they committed a crime together, and created false identities in order to avoid detection by the authorities," Castle was spouting theories in the background, "And they agreed to keep the money safe in an off shore bank account, maybe in Switzerland or the Cayman Islands... no, definitely Switzerland, it's mountainous and has trains, which, must be an Agatha Christie thing, are always great in murder mysteries. They're to rendezvous in Europe twenty years to the day, but when Henderson shows up, his partner stands him up. He goes to the bank, the money is gone! Jake has double-crossed him. Incensed, he begins to plot his revenge..."

This continued for several minutes, until she rolled her eyes.

"What about the affair?" she asked.

"Keep listening, I was just getting to that..."

After the excitement of Thursday, Friday was uneventful. They had spent most of the day chasing down a warrant for Jake Littleton's case files, hoping they would come across something in the client list. It meant they were still working the case on Christmas Day, and Beckett felt a surge of pride when, come Christmas morning, her team was pouring over the murder board with a renewed energy. She listened to their latest findings but then dismissed Ryan and Esposito under strict instructions that they were to keep their Christmas plans and enjoy the day off. Castle hung around, fingers tapping against her white board and smudging some of her penmanship.

"That goes for you too Castle," she told him, swiping his hand away and fixing his damage.

"And you?"

She shrugged, "I told my dad we had an open case. He's visiting relatives up north."

"Then you're stuck with me," he informed her pleasantly.

"Castle, you should be with Martha and Alexis," she argued, "I'm sure Casa Castle has a whole host of Christmas traditions."

"We do," he agreed, "But I'm sure they'll be upheld in my absence. I'll stay here with you today following up what leads we can and then head home in time for dinner. You're coming by the way, we eat at five."

She shook her head, but actually saw nothing objectionable in his plan. She knew it should be a big deal, spending Christmas with his family, but it seemed more like a brief interlude in an otherwise working holiday rather than a formal invitation, laden with implications. She took it for what it was.

"Of course this does leave my mother in charge of a cooking a turkey," he told her, "So there's the distinct possibility we'll be eating pizza tonight. Fair warning."

She laughed, briefly, but her brow furrowed in concentration once she turned back to the murder board. They re-examined every piece of information collated so far, which took most of the morning, but by mid-afternoon they were back to the mind-numbing task of searching through Jake Middleton's client files.

"There's nothing here," Castle groaned, "It's gotta be connected to Henderson somehow."

"We have to be thorough," she reminded him, "And besides, the connection could be through a client."

"Hey," he took her by the elbow, "Bring the files, let's head back to the loft. Alexis just texted mayday, meaning hurricane Martha has started on the Brandy Alexanders."

"You said until five, Castle."

"No, I said we'd eat at five. Look, we're running into a wall here. Some time away, perspective, might help."

She reluctantly agreed. They took a cab to the loft, and she was greeted by the smell of pine and, unsurprisingly, an over-decorated house. He helped her out of her coat, "Alexis and I couldn't settle on a colour scheme, so we just used all the decorations we had."

Alexis was perched on the sofa reading a chemistry textbook. Her father frowned at her.

"What?"

"I told you," he mussed her hair, and she slapped his hand away with a cushion for his trouble, "No studying on Christmas."

"Detective Beckett," Alexis Castle greeted her, "Merry Christmas! Dad, you didn't tell me we were expecting a guest."

As if reminded of his duties as host, he gestured to the sofa, "Sit down, put your feet up, do you want a drink?"

She laughed, "I'm fine, thank you."

"I'm off to see what the drama queen has done to my kitchen," he announced, deciding to give Alexis some time alone with Beckett. If anyone in the house could charm the detective into enjoying the spirit of the holiday, it was his daughter.

"It's an open plan living area Richard," his mother chided him from across the room, "I can hear you smearing my good name."

He gave her a kiss on the cheek and reached around her to steal a piece of carrot from the chopping board, "Sorry mother."

"How's the case going dear?"

"Frustratingly slowly," he bemoaned. "It's not just retail that goes crazy at this time of year."

"Ah," his mother handed him his own kitchen tools and a pile of potatoes, "Well, maybe you can be more useful in the kitchen."

Alexis came in to help some time later, telling him Beckett was using the study to call her father. He nodded, "What did you two talk about?"

Alexis raised a eyebrow, "It was girl talk dad."

He pouted, "Why can't I be in on girl talk?"

"Because dad," Alexis gave him a fond look, "You're not a girl."

"Please," he sniffed, "I can talk the talk and walk the walk and I even look better in a dress than most of them."

Infuriatingly, his daughter remained tight-lipped (and made a face that looked suspiciously like Beckett's at his last comment). If he'd known they were trading secrets he'd have made more an attempt to overhear them. He resolved himself to press Beckett for details later.

When the vegetables were in the oven, Alexis busied herself basting the turkey and his mother refilled her martini glass. He went in search of his partner. He caught the end of her conversation with her father entirely by accident.

"I know dad, I miss her too," a long pause then, "Tell everyone I said hello and Merry Christmas."

She hit a button to disconnect and looked up, catching him watching her.

He took two steps backward and held up his hands in surrender, "I wasn't eavesdropping, I swear."

She looked away and inhaled shakily, bringing her hand to her cheeks to wipe at her eyes, "It's ok. I'm fine."

In that moment, he didn't see a homicide detective or a stunningly beautiful woman or an inspiration for Nikki Heat, he just saw an upset daughter. That was something Richard Castle had experience with. He pulled her hands from her face and wrapped her in a hug. "I know," he told her, lips moving against her hair. It was ridiculously comforting. She relaxed and moved her arms to return the embrace.

"Every year," she half-laughed, "Every God damned year. You'd think I'd be used to it by now."

He shrugged, "It's not the kind of thing you're supposed to get used to."

"I really am ok," she reiterated, after a moment of silence. But she didn't pull away. "My mother loved the holidays." She laughed genuinely then, "She would have approved of what you and Alexis have done with the place."

"Well," he squeezed her then stepped backward, "I'm glad. I came to tell you that Alexis has pronounced the turkey cooked and it's now my job to carve." For the first time, she noticed the ridiculous safety goggles perched atop his head. "If you'd like to stand at a safe distance and provide helpful or mocking commentary, you are most welcome."

She cast a glance heavenward in mock-prayer then grinned, "I don't know whether to be positively terrified or just mildly alarmed."

"If it makes you feel better, no one has ever required an ER visit on Christmas in this house," he guided her to the kitchen counter with a hand on her back, "Halloween on the other hand, entirely different story."

Alexis shook her head a little, "Are you telling her about the time you face planted into a jack-o-lattern while stringing up cobwebs?"

He grinned, proud, "I needed five stitches. In my opinion the wound really added something to my pirate costume."

Kate kept a wide berth when Castle picked up the carving knife and joined Alexis by the table where the teenager was putting her final touches on the table settings. "Need some help?" she asked.

Alexis declined, "No, I'm pretty much done here."

"You can help me with this," Martha called pleasantly, entering the room with an open wine bottle and two very full glasses. "And I won't take no for an answer darling, Richard's told me how hard you've been working on this case, some relaxation is in order."

"Just don't try and match her glass for glass," was Castle's helpful suggestion from across the counter. His mother rewarded him with a disapproving cluck of her tongue and his own glass.

"Alexis?" her grandmother gestured with the wine bottle.

"Just one," watching Castle playing father never ceased to amaze Kate, "And only because it's Christmas."

Alexis declared a preference for soda, but snuck a taste from her grandmother's glass when she thought her father wasn't looking. Beckett smiled at the red-headed women, glad that Alexis had inherited at least some of her father's propensity for mischief. A healthy amount.

"Ok turkey," said father was saying with dramatic flair, "Prepare to meet your match."

Light sabre noises and a great deal of banter between the turkey and Castle ensued.

Martha rolled her eyes and patted Beckett's hand absently, "I'd like to tell you he wasn't always like this dear, but I'm sure by now you'd see through the lie."

After the better part of two bottles of wine, far too much turkey and fruit mince tarts made by Alexis, who good-naturedly refused to allow her recipe to change hands ("you'll just have to come back next year Detective Beckett"), Martha and Castle's daughter adjourned to the lounge to watch It's A Wonderful Life. (A Christmas tradition, Beckett was told.) Invitations were extended to the crime-fighting duo, and Castle waited for her lead, but Beckett declined.

"We should get back to work," she told him, standing and beginning to clear the last of their plates.

He put a hand on her arm, "Leave it. It's Christmas, what more can we possibly do tonight?"

She tensed, "I know. I just ... I have this feeling that we're missing something."

"Well, let's go over it again," he refilled their wine glasses, ignoring her protests, and led her to his study. "Grab the files you insisted on bringing," he instructed, "We'll re-do the murder board up here."

She nodded, thinking that repeating the exercise might reveal something they'd initially missed. "Ok."

She dictated the information they had gathered so far, perched on the edge of his desk, while he typed and arranged and re-arranged each piece of the puzzle on the computer. It was an odd role reversal, and his slightly different way of distributing the information spatially led them to re-hash old debates over several points. Hours later she propped up her chin with her hand and let out a frustrated sigh, "This isn't getting us anywhere."

To her left he nodded. Alexis and Martha had ducked in about an hour ago to declare they were going to bed. Now, Castle rotated her wine glass so the remaining liquid rose up the sides. "You want this?"

She shook her head and he finished it, standing to move the empty glasses to the sink.

"Coffee?" he called from the kitchen.

She followed him out into the living area and nodded, "Please."

He was beheading a gingerbread man with his teeth as he tamped the grounds. With both hands occupied, he didn't have a chance to save the cookie when it started to fall. His muted warning alerted her to the fact though, and her hand darted out and caught it. She rolled her eyes and stole a bite before redepositing it in his mouth when he opened it like bird. "Fank yo'," he managed, chomping.

For the quality of his espresso, she could forgive his shocking manners.

She backed away and leaned against the counter while he finished making their drinks, thoughts still on the case. "There's gotta be something in this guy's past," she declared finally as he handed her the steaming mug, "People don't just assume new identities without reason."

"No," he muses, "I suppose not."

He offered her the box of gingerbread cookies but she shook her head, groaning, "How can you possibly even think about more food?"

"Hey, what name do you think you'd choose if you had to go into witness protection?"

"I don't know, I've never thought about it."

"I see you as an Elizabeth," he told her. "Mostly for literary reasons. I think you'd made a wonderful Lizzie Bennett."

"Then you'd be Mr Wickham," she informed him, teasing.

"Come now," he chided, "At worst I'm Mr Bingley."

They sat in companionable silence for several moments before he began mulling over an idea. She could tell from the change in his expression.

"What?" she pressed.

"Hmm? Oh," he stood up, "I was just thinking, what do you think the wife knows about his past? You know, in case we get stonewalled by the Marshals."

"On a 20-year-old case and with a fresh homicide?" she raised an eyebrow, "It's unlikely they won't co-operate Castle."

"Maybe so," he ran his fingers around the rim of the mug, "But they've managed to dodge our calls so far. We should call her in though, ask her some more questions."

"I don't want to bother a victim's family during the holidays."

"Well fine then," he conceded, "But it might be worth a phone call to check up on her."

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that if this were one of my novels, Jake's past would definitely be what caught up with him, and if Emily knew something about that past, or even if our killer thought she did, she might be in danger."

"As soon as we find some evidence that your scenario is more than wild speculation, I promise that I'll put a detail on her."

Beckett reached for his mug and put both empty cups in the sink. Stretching her arms over her head she yawned, "We should get some rest and start fresh in the morning."

"Sure thing," he nodded, "I can call you a cab, but you're more than welcome to stay. The spare room is as comfortable and as empty as ever."

She shook her head, "Mmm, no, I need to clear my head. Besides," she focussed on the oven clock which read 1:45 am, "There's not much night left and I'd have to go home to change."

He nodded and flipped around on his cell, probably using one of his apps to take care of her ride, she surmised. She wrapped her hands around her elbows and stared over at his Christmas tree, illuminating up a dark corner with small coloured lights.

"Thanks for today," she said, suddenly, "I know you would've preferred to spend Christmas with Alexis."

He waved her off, "True to Castle Christmas traditions, we were up before dawn opening presents and eating candy cane pancakes for breakfast." She wrinkled her nose at the thought. "I would have preferred that no one got murdered just before the holidays and you could have taken some proper time off."

She shrugged, "No rest for those who catch the wicked Castle."

"I bet you have cousins you haven't seen since they were in grade school," he pointed out, all too astutely, "And I know your dad would have appreciated your company."

"Maybe next year," she said before his phone trilled, announcing the approach of her cab.

He paused when they reached the door way and looked up, a sly smile stretching his lips. It immediately made her nervous, in a pleasant sort of way. "Hey Beckett," he took her elbow, "Mistletoe."

She rolled her eyes, "It doesn't count if it's plastic."

He pouted.

"Fine," she conceded defeat more easily than he might have expected, which made him think that secretly she might not be so opposed to this kissing idea. He filed that piece of information away for later use.

"Happy holidays Detective," he said in a low voice that, combined with his proximity made her heart double-time and her eyes flick shut.

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, and to her surprise, she was a little disappointed.

"That all you got Castle?" she teased, trying desperately to lighten the mood.

"I know better than to startle a woman who carries a gun," he replied in kind, pushing her hair off her forehead.

She grinned, "Night Castle."

"Until tomorrow."

The day after Christmas, she awoke with a start from a particularly disorientating dream involving mistletoe and kissing and it took her a minute to catch her breath before she flipped open her cell, which was blaring offensively loudly.

"Castle?" she answered, glancing at the caller ID, "This had better be good."

"Did I wake you from a pleasant dream Detective?"

Give the man five seconds of silence and he'd come up with a retort dripping in innuendo. She rolled her eyes even though he couldn't see and said, "I don't know, since I was so rudely pulled from it. What's going on?"

"I'm at the precinct," he informed her, "Couldn't sleep so I thought I'd head in. Lanie's lab results are in, and you're going to want to see them."

She sighed, "Give me an hour or so Castle, I'm dying for a shower."

"It'll take me an hour or so to finish contemplating that image," he told her, slyly.

She was ready with a quick retort, but the line went dead and, with another mournful sigh, she pushed the covers aside and her legs to the floor.

She arrived at the precinct faster than she'd predicted and found Castle leaving slightly crass holiday cartoons as Ryan and Esposito's desktop backgrounds. "Do I even want to know how you know their passwords?" she greeted him, throwing her coat over the back of her chair.

"Ryan's is jennybear, all lower case," he informed her pleasantly, "And I won't divulge Esposito's because what's between a man and his computer should stay that way."

Her eyebrow reached a new height.

"Ugh, coffee first, reports second," she decided, turning towards the break room.

He caught up with her as she was standing in front of his fancy coffee machine and took her by the elbows, steering her to one side. "Let me."

She made a face, "I knew you secretly hated my coffee."

"If you'd just watched the instructional video like I told you to," he retorted, trailing off at the end of an oft-repeated argument.

"Maybe I just expected you to be a better teacher," she volleyed back, a little too flirtatiously.

When he fastened the portafilter and basket to the group shower, their arms were touching. It made the hairs on her arms stand on end and she pulled away abruptly. Ever since he'd told her about Gina's departure, unwanted feelings she'd spent the summer trying to quash had arisen faster than her intellectual mind could shoot them down again. She'd made her peace with the ides of May, the blame for that incident had to be shared, and while she'd come to a epiphany (that it was possible she might have certain feelings for Castle) she'd also come to opinion that it was entirely a good thing that she hadn't had a chance to act on it. It seemed that the intimacy of the case had started to wear down her resistance though. Which was Not A Good Thing, she reminded herself, because there was more than one reason not to go there with Castle again, least of which was that she was not technically free to do so. She spared a moment feeling guilty for not calling Josh in any of their downtime, but it was mostly the mental equivalent of lip service.

Castle was babbling in the background, completely unaware of any change in her behaviour or train of thought. Blissfully, she thought, and tried to re-focus her mind on the case.

"Beckett," he waved a hand over her face and held out his other, where a mug of steaming hot caffeine was waiting for her, "Earth to Beckett."

She grabbed the coffee with a brief glare. She was just sleep deprived, she thought, and she was quite sure in that moment that she could trust Castle's considerable charms to be overshadowed entirely by his propensity to irritate the crap out of her.

"So anyway," he continued, "I used Ryan's computer to do a more extensive search on the guy."

"Sorry what?" she looked up at him over the rim of her mug.

"Have you been listening to a word I've said?" his face fell, like she had actually offended him.

She flashed him a smile, "Sorry Castle, I was pre-occupied with your skill as a barrista."

He narrowed his eyes at her, then smiled, "Flattery will get you everywhere."

"Show me Lanie's e-mail," she said with a sigh. She was halfway back to her desk when she whirled around to face him, "Wait a minute. How did you see Lanie's e-mail to me? Have you been on my computer?"

He looked like a deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming Mac truck. In that moment, she actually reminded him of one.

"Castle," she used a tone of voice that couldn't be mistaken for anything but a warning, "This isn't a threat, it's a promise, you read my e-mails again and I will take you out into the middle of nowhere and shoot you into a shallow, unmarked grave."

He held up a hand in surrender and took a sip of coffee, "In my defence, your password was really, really easy."

She slogged him in the arm and he spilt the beverage down his shirt front.

While he adjourned to the men's room to fuss like a girl about the stain on his shirt, she looked through the new results that had come in from Lanie. The victim's blood was not the only blood on the beard. DNA profiling had revealed several alleles that couldn't have belonged to the victim, enough to pull partial matches from national crime databases. The list was small enough. She sent a brief reply thanking Lanie and wishing her happy holidays before she began working through the names.

Castle returned when she was about a third in.

"I'm running the names Lanie sent now," she informed him.

"Oh, I already did that," he said with a smile, "Most of them are still in jail. The remaining five I put up here." He gestured to the murder board, "Along with pertinent facts about their criminal pasts."

"Castle," she sighed, "I know you're trying to help, but using Ryan's identity is impersonating a police officer, which is a felony. I should arrest you."

He waggled his eyebrows at her, "Ooh, handcuffs."

"And all the Christmas arrests down in holding," she agreed, non-plussed, "85% of them will be drunks, sleeping it off. Good chance it smells like the less savoury of the bodily fluids down there this morning. Pretty boy like you'll fit right in."

"You think I'm pretty?" he fluttered his eyelashes at her.

She maintained her displeased expression despite her urge to laugh. "Next time, run it by me before you go charging ahead on an investigation on your own. And if you've got a problem with that, you can always go to the academy and start working your way up to homicide."

"You know, in all the time we've worked together, I'd never thought of that," he spun in Esposito's chair and began tapping away on the computer. She studied the names in front of her and the information he'd written out about each suspect, then sighed, "We'll have to bring them all in."

"Ooh, a clicky game," he ignored her, "I can promote this officer by dragging the various shields onto his person. Well, I assume it's a him, otherwise it's a female body builder."

She busied herself compiling the last known addresses of their new suspects.

"You'd put in a good word for me if I wanted to become a cop right?"

"I hate to break it to you Castle, but your criminal past precludes you," she grabbed her coat, folded it over one arm, "Come on, we're going on a road trip."

"Really?" he grumbled, still fixated on her earlier statement. "You ... borrow a police horse one time and no one ever lets you forget it."

"You never did tell me that story," she remembered as they stepped into the elevator.

"I must maintain my air of mystery." He paused, "Besides, I'm sure you read the file."

"Well, you weren't really making a whole lot of sense when they arrested you. And your blood alcohol was high," she gave him a once over with her eyes, "Very high."

"That I do remember," he told her cheerily, "But I was really hoping you could help shine some light on my motives. It was post-divorce numero uno, there was a book party and then there was the drunk tank. I'm still a bit hazy on the events in between."

"Then your mystery, it seems, is safe."

It takes them several days to work through their list of potential suspects. Most are not very pleased at being disturbed by the police during the holidays. One of them even says so, loudly and in a sentence peppered with colourful descriptors. Castle writes some of them down for his latest book. They have just one suspect left to interview, and so far they've made no progress.

Ryan and Esposito are both back in by the Monday after Christmas but by New Year's Eve they've exhausted all other avenues of investigation.

They began a review of all the files Castle pulled without her permission hoping to find something they've missed. She looked over the file of their only elusive suspect. Castle, bored with his assigned task, invaded her personal space in order to read over her shoulder.

"Interesting," she remarked, almost to herself, "This guy's been in prison for 22 years, including time served during his trial. He was released in November."

Castle looked at the trial dates, "The final verdict was given around the same time as our victim and his old friend fall off the map."

"He was in jail for a sexual assault and murder," she continued his thought, "Of a college girl, who was stabbed. He was convicted on the basis of testimony from two high school seniors who witnessed the stabbing. They called an ambulance but she was pronounced dead in the ER on arrival."

"Two high school seniors?" Castle asked.

"Yeah, about the right age," Beckett snapped her head to look at him and found herself closer to his face than she anticipated. She sucked in a breath.

"We need to call the US Marshals," she managed, standing quickly. Castle followed her without a word of explanation.

"I love it when mum and dad do that," Ryan said to Esposito.

"I don't," Esposito grumbled, "I never have the slightest clue what's going on."

The US Marshals were still trying to locate the files they had requested, and Beckett wasn't sure if they were being toyed with or if there was a genuine hold up locating the records. A 20-year-old case was probably in paper storage, and she'd seen the NYPD's filing system, or lack thereof, so she knew the latter was a distinct possibility.

She continued reading Sal William's rap sheet. "Great guy," she tossed the file in Castle's direction when she was done, "Career criminal. Mostly petty theft and minor scams. Mob ties though, which might explain why two witnesses at his trial disappear after it was over. And how he copped a suspiciously lenient sentence."

"Did you run the names of the witnesses?" he asked.

She nodded, "It might be a coincidence, but I've got a strong feeling it isn't."

"What now?"

"Now," she picked up the receiver and began making a call, "We put out an APB and call the halfway house listed as Sal's last known address. He must be around. He met with his parole officer last Wednesday. And then we wait."

"No we don't," Ryan corrected her, emerging with Esposito in tow. "Just got a call from cops out on Long Island. They've got Henderson in custody."

Castle was leaning back in his chair in the interrogation room, letting it rest on two legs. Beckett opened and slammed the door that he jumped and nearly fell of his chair. This nervousness on his part seemed to make Henderson look a lot more jumpy, if that were possible.

"Mr Henderson," she greeted the suspect in a measured tone that gave Castle the distinct impression of a cobra about to strike. "I'm your new best friend."

The businessman looked as though he seriously doubted that.

"Which is lucky," she continued, "Because your old best friend is dead. Jake Littleton," she slapped the victim's photograph in front of him.

Henderson didn't react at the mention of Littleton's name.

"And I've got to say, Mr Henderson, I like you for it."

Henderson didn't say a word.

"I've got a witness that says she saw you arguing with Mr Littleton the week before he was brutally murdered. And phone records indicate that you were the last person to talk to him alive. You disappeared around the time of his murder. And I've got a partial DNA profile left at the scene, which I'd be willing to bet money matches yours. That's a lot of evidence pointing the finger at you."

Castle hid a proud smile and thought, atta girl. Henderson's eyes darted left and right, appraising the situation.

"And I'm your only way out," she leaned forward across the table. "Co-operate, answer my questions, and I'll put in a good word with the DA's office."

Henderson met her eyes suddenly, the mask of nervousness completely gone. "You've got nothing on me," he informed them.

"We'll just see about that when I get that warrant for your DNA sample. Or, if you're so sure, why not just give me a sample now?"

"Because then you'd turn me loose wouldn't you?"

"No reason to hold an innocent man."

The suspect didn't reply.

"So, you were sleeping with Emily Littleton, the wife of an old friend," she went for the obvious, "Is that why you killed him? Because Emily wouldn't leave him for you?"

Henderson remained composed, poker-faced.

"Come on Steve," Beckett rapped against the table with her knuckles, startling the man sitting opposite them, "You don't want to be this guy. You don't want to be the guy who didn't co-operate. Help me out here."

"I want a lawyer," the suspect folded his arms.

Beckett cursed under her breath on the way out the door.

"Bring Emily back in for questioning," she instructed Ryan and Esposito, "And keep Henderson in holding. If he wants a lawyer, he's entitled to one but I'm beginning to think there's a possibility he's guilty after all."

She noticed Castle's face fall in her peripheral vision. "Too pedestrian," he told her as Ryan and Esposito made their way to the stairs.

"If it looks like a duck and sounds like a duck," she held up her hands.

"He's not necessarily guilty. I agree, something doesn't add up here. But he wasn't exactly scared when you brought up the DNA."

"True."

"I like the mobster for it," Castle fingered the file thoughtfully. "Mostly because it would involve secret identities and a bloodthirsty quest for revenge."

"You know how things are in the real world Castle."

She added Sal Williams' photo to the murder board though, with a question mark above it. "Until we hear back from the Marshals, I'm going to stick with the suspect I have. We'll go at him again once someone comes down from the public defender's office."

"Seriously? Rich guy like him going with a public defender?"

She shrugged, "Maybe the tax scandal cleaned him out."

She tried the Marshals again, but got an automated message.

About forty minutes later, when Castle was making faces at Henderson through the one-way glass, her cell rang. "Beckett."

"It's Esposito," the detective told her, "We're at Emily Littleton's house and she's not here. I think you'd better send CSU out here. There are signs of a struggle."

"Got it," Beckett ended the call and sat with a grim look on her face for a moment, considering their next move.

Castle wandered over and saw her face, "What's wrong?"

"Emily Littleton is missing," she filled him in. Instead of the I told you so she was half-expecting, his face fell. "And the public defender's here. I think it's time we re-questioned Mr Henderson."

He nodded and followed her into the interrogation room.

The public defender voiced her objections, wanting more time to confer with her client, but Beckett pressed on anyway. She was willing to bet her badge on Henderson's innocence, especially since Esposito had said it was likely Emily's abduction had happened recently.

"Emily Littleton is missing," she told Henderson, flatly, "Presumed abducted. Now if you didn't kill Jake Littleton now is the time to speak up, because if his killer is still out there, there's a good chance he's the one behind Emily's disappearance. I'm sure I can find something other than murder to hold you for," she thought for a moment, "Other than for the fact that I really don't like you."

Castle saw the change in Henderson's face when she told him Emily was missing. Beckett had hit a nerve.

"Ok," Henderson held up his hands.

The public defender warned him not to admit his guilt.

"I didn't kill Jake. I probably got him killed, but I didn't lay a finger on him. A few weeks back, I got in my car to leave work and Sal's sitting in the back with a knife pressed to the back of my neck. Sal's a pro, I know he knows how to use it... wait, hang on, I'm getting ahead of myself."

He paused, "Senior year of high school and my friend Jeremy and I are walking down a deserted street in Newark late at night. We're walking past an alley when we hear what sounded like sex noises, whimpering girl, grunting man so, being the idiot teenagers that we are, we hide behind a dumpster and decide to make dumb ass comments. Except, in the mean time, we hear Sal telling this girl he's going to kill her if she screams, if she doesn't stop struggling. We can see through the gap between the wall and the dumpster, Sal's got a hand over her mouth and a knife to her throat."

"Jeremy wanted to say something, he mimed that, but I told him he was crazy, told him to keep is mouth shut. Then, next thing you know, Sal's stabbing this girl and tossing a condom in the dumpster and we're shitting ourselves hoping he doesn't see us. I ran to the nearest pay phone and called 911 and Jeremy tried to stop the bleeding. But she dies. And Sal, dear old Sal, gets done for it because Jeremy and I testify at his trial. But then our lives are turned upside down. I was going to Iowa State with a football scholarship, now I'm going to UC Santa Barbara. Jeremy was going to Wesleyan then Harvard Law, now he's suddenly going to UT Austin. We have different names, different identities. Our parents are told they can never contact us again. Hell, we're told we can't contact each other again."

"But that's ok, because I really liked Santa Cruz, and I built a business empire in LA then in New York. I meet a girl who works in my office, Emily - who I think is unmarried. Well, you know how that turns out. As soon as I realised who she was married to I ended it. Jeremy, Jake, whoever, when I saw him in those pictures, I recognised him immediately. Then the tax scandal breaks, then Sal's in my car, threatening me, saying he's going to kill me if I don't tell him where Jeremy is. I freaked out, I told him. I was a coward. I should have," he put his head in his hands and spoke to the table, "If I'd just kept my mouth shut, Emily and Jeremy'd probably still be safe, at home. God," he looked up and met first Castle's eyes, then Beckett's.

"I sold out my childhood best friend to a criminal who commits crimes for, as far as I can tell, fun. I tried to warn him. That's when we had the argument in his office Detective, I told him Sal was out and he was coming after us and he called me crazy. Told me we weren't meant to be in contact. He ignored me. Until Tuesday. He called to apologise, said he wanted to hear my side of the story. We met in the Garment District around five on Tuesday afternoon. After that, I decided to go missing, had my secretary call it in. I've been lying low, hoping Sal would get bored or go back to the bighouse for another crime. But then he calls me and tells me he's going after Emily if he can't get to me and," he ran his hand through his hair, "I can't let that happen. Emily's ... Emily just lights up a room, you know? And she knows nothing about it."

"So that's it, Detective, that's what I know. I was meant to meet him in the city this afternoon, but your boys got to me first. And now he's done it, he's got her."

Kate Beckett felt incredibly calm as the last pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

"I'll hold you just in case you're Keyser Söze in all this," she told Steven Henderson. "But we'll do the best we can to find Emily."

"Ryan, Esposito," she called, pushing open the door to the interrogation room, "Contact Emily's cell provider. Let's see if she's got a GPS tracker in her cell."

It was the one break they caught on the case. Emily's cell was somewhere in the vicinity of a storage facility just around the corner from where her husband's body was found. An explanation for that comes to mind as Beckett and Castle get out of the car, "We're just blocks from his halfway house," she mused. "Which is why his parole officer or the house staff don't suspect anything - he's just ducking out to commit major crimes, then going back and keeping a low profile."

Castle nodded.

"Stay behind me," she warned, "I know I always say it, but you ignore most of everything else I say."

He held up his hands, "Trust me, in this situation, I want to be behind the people with the guns."

She nodded. Ryan and Esposito were co-ordinating with their back up.

"We have to try to figure out which storage unit he's in," she unfurled a plan of the building. "The ones the owner has checked recently are marked."

A scream echoed from the opposite corner of the facility. Beckett ran in the general direction of the noise.

"Well that makes it easy," Castle quipped, running after her.

She figured their best bet was the element of surprise. She gestured for the team to stand back and her boot connected with the door with a satisfying bang. Inside, the storage unit was dark but illuminated in the small pool of light from the corridor was Sal Williams. Emily Littleton made a run for it. Sal decided to take a shot, and that was when Beckett first registered that he had a gun, when the bullet meant for his captive hit her square in the chest.

Stunned, she fell backward onto her wrists. Esposito took a quick shot as the killer tried to run, hitting him in his trigger arm. Castle just stood back and tried not to get in the way of anybody's bullets, at least until Ryan was cuffing their murder suspect and placing a little too much pressure on the bullet hole. Esposito gestured for Castle to check Beckett for injuries while he went in search of Emily Littleton.

Castle looked as dazed as she felt when he crouched beside her. She blinked at him, trying to tell him she was fine, but finding herself still incredibly winded by the impact. His fingers loosened the flattened round from the kevlar, then returned to her stomach, as though he didn't quite believe she hadn't actually been shot. He finally thought to check her pulse and she was in the middle of making a mental note to make him do her next first-aid course with her when the fingers pressing against her neck started pulling instead of pressing. That's not right, she thought.

And, before she realised what was happening, he leant over and kissed her, ever so briefly, on the mouth. Her physiological response made it an ill-advised move to pull on someone who was trying to catch her breath.

"When you try and chew me out for that later, I'm going to claim you passed out and required resuscitation," he told her.

She looked incredulous.

"Any excuse will do," she finally managed to choke out, but she let the moment linger, not thinking to push away from him until Esposito started calling to them from the door, "Beckett all right?"

"She needs to see the paramedics," Castle responded, on her behalf, but that might have been just as well because she was still trying to process the exact order of events. Her fingers found her lips.

She narrowed her eyes when his words sunk in, "I'm fine Castle. He got me in the vest."

"Yeah, and the impact can still break ribs or cause internal bleeding."

She should have expected him to have done his homework.

"Fine," she rolled her eyes, "They can check me out here and if they say so, we'll go to the hospital. But I don't need an ambulance. You can drive me."

"Esposito, Beckett definitely needs medical attention," Castle joked, "She just agreed to let me drive."

The next few hours were a whirlwind. The vest had protected her from any serious injuries. She was going to have one hell of a bruise come the next day, and she had fallen on her wrist at an odd angle but other than a her arm in a sling and a tenderness in her ribs, she was, medically speaking, in the clear. Her pride, too, had only suffered minor damage though she was a little embarrassed at being the One Who Got Shot. ("Can't take her anywhere," she could imagine Ryan quipping to Esposito.)

Josh came to see her at the hospital while she was waiting to be discharged. Castle had disappeared to help Ryan and Esposito fill in the Captain and, on her orders, to check on Emily Littleton. Ever one to overanalyse a situation, her mind had been replaying the events of the past few hours on loop since she'd been left alone in the hospital bed. And while she had firmly decided that it was just a kiss, a kiss bestowed when Castle had been on an adrenaline high and she'd been too stunned to protest, she also knew that Josh probably wouldn't see it that way. And that wasn't fair.

(Besides, there was some part of her that had decided it wouldn't be so bad if Castle kissed her again. But she wasn't getting her hopes up. God, she was tired.)

She had a brief conversation with the doctor while he glanced over her chart. They'd managed to end it by the time he was done with the results of her X-rays (which were clear). He took it as she expected he would, expressing disappointment but wishing her the best. He'd had to run off to answer a page in the middle of a sentence.

Castle was the bearer of good news and gifts. "Ooh, is that food?" her stomach growled at the smell.

"Two cheeseburgers, onion rings and extra fries," he confirmed, "Thought you might be hungry and given the commotion out there, I think we might be waiting a while for that nurse to come back with your paperwork."

She shrugged and tore into the bag with her good arm. She stopped, a handful of fries halfway to her mouth, and said, "How's Emily?"

"Just in shock," he settled himself beside her on the bed, fast food in between them, "They've got her on fluids and they're keeping her overnight to be safe, but she'll be fine to go home in the morning. The Marshals have already got her under guard. It seems her and Steve will be entering the witness protection program for round two."

"Hmm, did you ask her what name she'd pick?" she asked, remembering their earlier conversation.

"Think she's going to go with Katherine," he grinned slyly.

"And how much of a hand did you have in that partner?" she began the complicated process of unwrapping her burger one handed. He reached over and did it for her, depositing it in her hand.

"I may have extolled your virtues at her bedside, once the doctors said it was ok for her to have visitors."

She shook her head.

"Anyway, the full story is pretty much what we figured. Sal, being the fine upstanding citizen that he is, decided all he wanted from Christmas was revenge. Given the high profile scandal surrounding Henderson's company, his photo was in a few papers recently. Sal saw him, tracked him down and threatened to kill him. Henderson sold out Littleton, Sal killed Littleton, then used Emily, who had been involved with both men, to draw out Henderson. We picked him up, and you know the rest."

"So the affair was just happenstance?" she punctuated her sentence with a mouthful.

"For the most part. When Henderson realised Emily was Jake's wife he broke off the affair. Witness protection had told them not to have any contact after their new identities were given out."

"Witness protection also should have made sure Henderson's photo didn't make the front page," she commented.

"True, but as you said, it was a twenty-year old case. Who would've thought it would be a problem?"

"So, case closed?" she concluded, hopefully.

"Ryan and Esposito took care of your paperwork. It's under the bag. It'll need your signature but they'll stop by and pick it up, run it by the precinct. One of them is going to have to take your car back."

She looked down at her wrist and frowned.

Castle busied himself with the onion rings and they ate in silence for several minutes.

"Josh came by," she said, casually.

"Oh?"

She shrugged, chewing and swallowing before continuing, "We decided it was best to focus on our respective careers at the moment. Could you get me some of my Coke please?"

He held the straw to her lips so she could drink.

She gave him a suggestive look with the straw in her mouth and he decided not to pry. It was, he concluded for one of the first times in their acquaintance, none of his business.

The traffic in Manhattan was gridlocked. It was an hour to midnight on New Year's Eve. She had to reorientate herself so her good arm was facing the traffic in order to hail a cab, a process which took approximately three times longer than on a normal night.

"I'm going with you," he told her as they stood in the street, "And don't even think of arguing with me. I thought you were dead for a second back there and you're stuck with me until I'm convinced you're going to stay alive."

She waved him off with her good hand, "I'm fine Castle. I'll still be here tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's not that far away," he reminded her. "At least let me make sure you welcome in the New Year safe in your own home." He took her lack of refusal as the acceptance it was.

She pulled her injured arm closer around her middle and changed the subject. "It's freezing out here."

He shrugged of his coat, draping it over her shoulders. She regarded him with an amused expression, "Where have you been hiding this chivalrous side Castle?"

He let his hands linger, "You don't like to be taken care of Kate Beckett."

"No," she corrected him, finally succeeding in her quest to hail a cab, "I don't need to be taken care of. There's a difference."

They made most of the journey in silence, both looking out the windows lost in thought. Castle texted Alexis, and his cell buzzed to announce her replies. He wordlessly handed her the device so she good see the good wishes of his mother and daughter. She smiled. The lack of conversation was easy, rather than awkward.

He refused to let her pay, something that bothered her independent streak, but she was wearing his coat so she subtly left half the fare in the right pocket. If he noticed, he didn't comment. He had never seen her new apartment. It felt different from the first time he had insinuated himself into the old one. She wanted him to see it, and that was tied up with the past - the explosion, him returning her father's watch, the two nights she'd slept in his spare room - and the present. She wasn't sure which made it harder. She babbled about it not being finished as she turned the key in the lock and struggled to open the door one-handed. He reached around her, offering one of his hands to help her, turning the door handle. His fingers brushed against her hip as he withdrew them.

He took it in with an appraising look, "It's starting to look like it's really yours."

She nodded, "I had to go up to my father's and raid the family photo albums to replace some of the pictures."

(That had been a cathartic experience. Neither she nor her father had really bothered to go through the family albums when he moved out of her childhood home. They had been packed in boxes in the bottom of a closet in the spare room for nearly five years when she went looking for pictures of her family. They were dusty. But it was one of the few times she remembered the happiness of her childhood unadulterated by the absence of Johanna in her adult life. She had cried, but not with regret.)

He seemed to sense that the new apartment was symbolic of some greater paradigm shift. For one, there were a lot more photographs.

"It occurred to me over the summer," she said, returning from the kitchen where she had deposited the bag containing the medication she had been given for the pain and catching him fingering a picture of her and Lanie laughing at the mocking face Esposito was making behind an oblivious Ryan. "I've spent so much of my life forgetting things. And I have good memories, of my mother and my childhood, everything. I don't want to be the sort of person who forgets the good things."

He didn't say anything for a minute, "Life is about the moments, the little things in between the big things."

"Promise me you'll keep a straight face when I ask you for a favour," she suddenly felt incredibly relaxed, "Can you help me change out of this shirt?"

"Thought you'd never ask," to his credit, he did say it with an incredibly straight face.

"Just the shirt Castle, I can do the rest," she narrowed her eyes. "And if you say that's what she said, I still have one good arm."

It was the first time he'd seen her bedroom. He lingered in the doorway while she rummaged in the drawer for a T-shirt. When she righted herself, she was smirking, amused. "What's the matter with you? The Castle I know would be in here trying to find the skeletons in the closet."

"Well I couldn't properly snoop in front of you," he offered half-heartedly. "But mostly, I don't want to me anywhere I'm unwelcome. I... I've been trying harder to respect your boundaries, your privacy."

"It's like you're a vampire and I have to offer you a formal invitation," she joked. "Come, you can't help from over there."

That piqued his curiousity. "Why Detective Beckett, please tell me you haven't fallen victim of Twilight?"

"Please Castle," she rolled her eyes, "I'd have thought you'd at least have given me the benefit of the doubt and pegged me for a Laurell K Hamilton girl."

She stood with her back to him and threw the T-shirt down on her bed. With her good hand she began pulling up the blue shirt she was wearing. He sucked in a breath and decided it would be best to keep conversation neutral when he reached out to assist her.

"Funny story about Twilight. Alexis read the first one, and I may have given it a parental appraisal, to make sure it was appropriate for her age group."

She laughed quietly, which hurt in her chest but not too much to make her stop. "A likely story. Was it as bad as it sounds?"

"Worse," he was studying the pattern on her duvet cover trying to avert all his attention from the fact that she was half-naked and he might even be able to get away with kissing her shoulder. God. He wanted to.

"Castle," she turned around to face him. Oh, this was not going to end well, he thought. "Can you help me re-dress now?"

He grinned. "Usually it's more of a one way service I offer."

Her first mistake was not backing away. There was something appealing about the scenario he described, and she was already using most of her remaining mental resources trying to ignore the way his fingers had felt against the curve of her waist when he was helping her undress. She should have thought of a quicker retort, should have rolled her eyes, should have something. Instead she wet her lips, subconsciously, and may or may not have leant towards him.

He reached out and let his hand rest against her cheek. "God."

She closed her eyes. "Help me with the shirt," she said, evenly, "This is." She didn't finish the sentence.

"Open your eyes," he was holding the sleeve out so she could slip it over her injured arm without moving it.

Re-clothed, she sat on the edge of the bed, trying to shake off the moment.

"You're beautiful," he told her with an earnestness and vulnerability that surprised her a little. She patted the space beside her. He sat. They'd been moving towards it for so long, it was a shock to find herself suddenly at a standstill.

"Maybe we should talk," she said. It had been a long time coming.

"Thought you might eventually get around to saying that," he nudged her good shoulder.

"Castle," she was willing him to be serious.

"I'm not sorry I kissed you," he declared.

"I'm not asking you to apologise."

"So. What now?"

"I don't know," she curled her good hand into a fist against her jeans. "I feel like we just got here, you know? I mean, you left and when you came back, things were different."

"I didn't know you were going to break up with Demming," he was completely honest with her. It was terrifying moment.

"In your defence, neither did I," she admitted.

"He made you happy."

"But he didn't make me mad."

"That's usually considered a good thing," he informed her pleasantly.

"He was... nice, he was all the things I should have liked, and I did but," she trailed off, tapping her foot against the carpet nervously. "There are so many things about you that infuriate me," it was a roundabout way of saying it, but he wouldn't have expected any less, "But here we are, in spite of all that."

"I didn't ever mean to hurt you," he figured he might as well go all-in. "I know I have. More than once. But I have always only ever wanted you to be happy."

She nodded. "But why Gina? Why your ex-wife?"

"The devil you know?" he was guessing, "I don't know. You said no."

"No," she shook her head, "I didn't say yes."

"Somewhere, a feminist rolled over in her grave."

That comment earned him a solid pinch that still stung even through layers of clothing.

"Why," she studiously avoided his eyes, "Why did you wait until I was with someone else?"

"The timing was never right. Well," he conceded, "We had our moments. But you would have shot me down, possibly literally, if I'd acted like any other guy. Which I resented, by the way."

She smiled distractedly, her focus still on the conversation at hand, "I never thought you were serious. It's one thing to treat me differently to," she paused, "The Ellie Munroe's of your acquaintance, but at some point, if it was what you wanted, I had to be like any other woman."

"But you're not," he made the jump to present tense, "And you know what they say. Twice bitten, once shy."

"That's not what they say Castle, and besides, what makes you think I'd bite?" she raised an eyebrow.

He smirked, "I'm not sure I'd mind if you did."

"That's not what I meant," she allowed herself to flirt, "But I'm sure it could be arranged." She adopted a more serious tone again almost instantly, "But you just said it, we're different. We're different. I would never intentionally hurt you," she tightened her fingers around his, "Whatever else, you've somehow managed, against all my reason and better judgement, to become my friend."

"We can't go back you know," he said, so close she could feel his breath on her face. She wondered what he meant by that.

"Why are you so sure we'd want to?" she breathed over his mouth, caught between her own uncertainty and a burning desire to know what it would be like to really kiss him, without extenuating circumstances, without work, with just them. It wasn't often she let herself stop thinking enough to be completely in a moment. Maybe it was the hospital-strength painkillers at work, but she felt dangerously close to giving in.

"I'm not," he answered, inches above her lips, his free hand reaching out to play with her hair.

"Neither am I," she confessed, "And that's what scares me the most."

"I'm going to kiss you now," he told her. "Resist your urge to slap me with your good arm afterwards."

And he did.

The clock ticked over to midnight and brought the calendar with it but they didn't notice until five minutes too late.