Disclaimer and Introduction: The characters aren't mine, and I claim no rights or interest in them. For those parts of what follows that are original to me, they're mine.

This story is AU, and set right after Probable Cause.

I thought I was a "one and done" type of fanfic author, but I've been toying with doing a "re-write" of parts of Probable Cause to try to fix all the story problems (one of which was discussed by Castle in my other story, "His Own Special Way", id: 9488967). While considering that, a post-Probable Cause, multi-chapter story idea came to me. I'm not currently willing to commit the time or energy to writing that story, but then I thought of a way to get to its ending in a way that hinted at the longer path, as well as maybe other side-paths that came to mind from Probable Cause and its issues.

And when it became clear that the story presented a golden opportunity to use Perlmutter, what follows became the right way for now. The story might even work better in the short form, as the hint of the longer path may be more intriguing than the actual story I'd be able to write. Maybe I'll try eventually but no matter if or when, I hope you enjoy the shortcut now.

Again, thanks to my beta readers for their time and feedback. Their names have been withheld to protect the innocent. All errors are mine.

"You going to say something Perlmutter?" Castle asked, turning to face the medical examiner as the he and the rest of the team were starting to leave the New York City Medical Examiner autopsy lab.

Perlmutter had paused, ambivalent. It wasn't a state he was accustomed to, and not one he liked much. No one who dealt regularly with Perlmutter would have ever described him as indecisive; quite the opposite. He made quick, well-informed judgments about everything – people, evidence, situations – and rarely found that he need to re-consider those judgments. It wasn't a question of style, it was just who he was. And it was partly why he made such a good ME, but definitely a prickly one if he thought someone was questioning how long he was taking to make a decision or, heaven forbid, questioning his conclusions.

When Perlmutter failed to respond promptly with a sarcastic barb aimed at Castle, everyone's attention began to turn to him.

It took longer and was farther away than they had expected, but Tyson's body had finally been found.

Castle and Beckett were at the Twelfth, she at her desk doing paperwork, he sitting in his brown chair at the side of her desk, his hands busy wadding up a report form he'd grabbed and then smoothing it out, only to start the cycle again. Beckett was randomly stealing glances at Castle, trying to keep the lingering concern out of her expression. A little over three weeks had passed since the shootout on the bridge, and it had been less than a week that their routine had gotten back to some semblance of their "normal." Castle had been through a lot, and Beckett knew that was a gross understatement. As Kate snuck glances, she couldn't help but be a bit in awe that after everything Castle had been through, he beat Tyson with truly minimal help from the team.

But those glances didn't eliminate Beckett's fears that it was all too much for Castle to handle. Having suffered Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder herself, Kate had earlier begun to think that Castle was having a similar problem.

The thought had first flitted across Kate's mind the morning after Tyson was shot off of the bridge by
Castle. After she and Castle had been interviewed about what had happened after leaving the warehouse where they had found the evidence exonerating Castle, she had been kept busy with crime scene duties and helping to coordinate the search for Tyson's body. Each time Beckett had a moment to check on Castle, she found him standing at the edge of the bridge, staring at the river with a blank expression. He had stayed like that for hours. And when she'd approached Castle and he said he didn't believe Tyson was dead, that Tyson had orchestrated the entire ordeal from start to finish so that he had a very public "death," she'd gone so far as to call that theory "crazy." Kate thought that Castle was physically and emotionally exhausted, and that sleep and a few days to decompress would put that thought to rest.

It wasn't long before Beckett wished that she'd never uttered the word "crazy" because it had begun to look like Castle could be suffering from PSTD. He hadn't been the constant presence at the Twelfth in the days that followed, and when he answered her calls, he seemed to be looking for excuses to avoid coming back to the precinct. On the days when Castle did show up, he was more unfocused than usual and seemed more distant, certainly more on edge and fidgety. From her reading about PTSD after her own episode, Beckett could see that Castle was exhibiting classic symptoms.

One week earlier

Hoping that she could quiet her increasing concerns, Beckett had gone to Lanie.

"Hey," Beckett said as she strode through the door. She expected to find Lanie there, but Perlmutter was also in the exam room.

"Hey girlfriend. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Lanie responded, getting up from the stool where she'd been sitting to walk toward Beckett.

Perlmutter, seemingly engrossed in his work, didn't even look up.

"Do you have a few minutes? In private?" Kate said, glancing Perlmutter's way.

Lanie started to ask Perlmutter if he would take a break, but Perlmutter interjected before she could speak. "You didn't have to add the final thought. I knew you were here for a personal conversation since there's been no news on Tyson's body." He began to put down the instruments he was working with.

"Thanks Perlmutter, appreciate it. I shouldn't be long."

"Oh, by the way Detective, do know that I've volunteered to do the autopsy when we recover Tyson's body. That's one identification I look forward to making. Of course, that partly depends upon the validity of Castle's assumption that a few of the 7 or 8 shots he fired actually managed to hit Tyson." Thinking back to Castle's zombie obsession, Perlmutter continued, "But it wouldn't be the first time that an assumption of Castle's has made an ass out of him, and also tried to make one out of me."

"Sidney . . ." Lanie's tone matched her glower.

"I'll be back in 10."

Lanie spoke after Perlmutter was a safe distance down the hall. "That man. If he wasn't damn near indispensable, I'd think about smackin' him too. So what's up?"

"It's Castle."

"Yeah, how's he doing after everything? And then can we talk about why we always seem to have these conversations here in the morgue?"

"Please Lanie, I'm worried. He's barely been to the precinct in the past two weeks. Half the time he doesn't answer his phone and when he does, he doesn't sound like himself. Definitely edgy but at the same time distracted and tired, like he's not sleeping well."

"Have you gone over to the loft to check on him?"

"It's not like he never comes in. He's just not his usual constant presence. And when he's there he tries to hide it all and act normal, but I can still see it. Espo and Ryan know he's not the same too." Kate paused before continuing. "Besides, I can't go to the loft unless I'm sure that things are really wrong. He asked for some space after what he'd been through, and I owe him to respect his request."

Not for the first time Kate thought karma was a bitch . . . on wheels.

Lanie narrowed her eyes while titling her head downward and to the right by a fraction. "So you're thinking Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?" Lanie was sure that, Kate being Kate, she had read up on the Disorder when she was diagnosed after her own shooting, and Lanie wasn't surprised that Beckett would be sensitive to the possibility with Castle. And while Lanie had never told Kate, Lanie had also done research and spoken to some psychiatrists about PTSD when Kate was being treated, so she could be as supportive and helpful as possible in Kate's recovery.

Lanie thought it would be a near miracle if Kate wasn't seeing some PTSD symptoms in Castle. In the span of a few days, he had lived through a situation where he had been confined, his life had been in constant and increasing danger, and few believed in him even after he told them Tyson was behind it all. As if that weren't enough, after days of Castle being a murder suspect because of a cunning and meticulous plan by a serial killer, a psychopath who once before almost killed a tied-up Castle with Ryan's gun, Rick had been faced with having one chance to save Kate. If Castle had failed, he would have had to watch Kate die because of his failure. And that single chance had to be taken when he was still in a bit of a daze after having been in a car that had been rammed by a truck driven by Tyson. Castle had found himself with Kate's gun, facing Tyson who was holding Kate as a human shield with a gun to her ribs, screaming he wanted Castle watch the murder of the woman he loved. In that diminished state, with adrenalin pumping through his veins and unsteadying his hands, Castle was faced with having to use an unfamiliar gun to shoot Tyson while avoiding hitting Kate, and do it at night on a dark, shadowy bridge.

Lanie wasn't sure she could imagine a more purely psychologically stressful sequence of events.

Kate continued. "Yeah, that's what's got me worried. He stays away from the department and when he's there, it's like his anxiety increases and he can't keep himself still – like constantly drumming his fingers, or spreading them out on my desk, raising and lowering his fingers one-by-one. . . You try doing your paperwork with someone doing that on your desk for a week. If he doesn't get back to being Castle soon, I'll be the crazy one."

Lanie ignored Kate's awkward attempt at humor, knowing it was her way of trying to deal with a deep concern for Rick's mental state. "OK, saying you two have communication issues isn't exactly news, but have you talked to him, asked him how he's doing?"

Beckett spoke while she nodded her head. "I've tried a few times, but you know how he is – says everything is fine, deflects the question, changes the subject. The only thing that came out of my attempts was that Castle revealed that he was going to apply for a concealed carry permit from the city, and asked for my help to get him ready to qualify."

Lanie's eyebrows shot up. "What, saving your life by shooting a serial killer who was using you as a human shield isn't qualification enough? Or saving your life by shooting the gun out of the hand of a different serial killer? He still has to prove he's a good enough shot?"

"Lanie, can you be serious please? I'm really worried."

Lanie threw her hands, fingers spread and palms toward Kate. "OK, OK."

"Anyway, since shooting can sometimes help me work out frustrations, I thought it might help him too. I thought maybe it would make him start to feel safer, more in control, so we went. . . That's another thing – he didn't want to go to the police range, actually said he'd be more comfortable somewhere else. But even at the private range, he couldn't relax. He started off nearly as wildly as the first time we were at a range." Beckett thought about watching his ineptitude in the well-lit controlled environment of the range, and being even more amazed that Castle hadn't shot her on the bridge. "I think by the end I convinced him to put his concealed carry plans on hold."

"Have you spoken with Martha and Alexis?"

"They're not too concerned yet. Said this is pretty ordinary when he's gone through an emotional event before. This feels different to me though. They say they'll keep a closer watch but with Alexis at college, and Martha out of town teaching at an actor's workshop, I don't know . . ."

"Well, I'm an ME, not a psychiatrist, but after all he's been through I don't see how PTSD can be ruled out. I think – and you already think or else you wouldn't be here looking for a second opinion – that you should urge him to go see Dr. Burke. He helped you. I'm sure he could help Castle, if he needs it."

"I don't know if Castle will listen to me on this but he respects you, and your opinion might be the push I need to convince him to at least meet with Dr. Burke."

"Hey, if you think it would help, I'm happy to talk to Castle."

"Thanks Lanie, I knew I could count on you."

"I'm here for you Kate . . . Castle too."

Kate left the morgue feeling lighter than she had in days. She was even happier the next day, as it looked like a visit to Dr. Burke might not be needed. The day after her visit to the morgue, Castle had returned to the Twelfth, more like his old self. He was still restless, however, fidgeting and back to touching and picking up things.

Back to Present

Kate's random glances at Castle were interrupted by her phone ringing.

"Beckett." The neutral, distracted expression on her face quickly transformed into a wide-eyed, smiling vision. "Thanks Lanie. We're on our way."

Hanging up, Beckett turned to grab her jacket and beamed at Rick. "C'mon Castle, Lanie says she's got Jerry Tyson's body. Ryan, you should be there for this. Esposito, you too."