This story came to me abruptly the moment I read the fanfic prompt. Thanks, Travis!

Love Letters

They went out of town for the last weekend of autumn, when the nights were cool but Indian Summer breathed warm over the lake. Sunday afternoon, Kate led Rick upstairs into the attic. "My dad has some old trunks up in here. Before we go, we should see if we can find any cool costume stuff. For Halloween."

"Old trunks!?" Rick's eyes lit up in delight, and Kate gave him an answering grin. His infectious enthusiasm for everything except Captain Gates and tsunamis warmed her through.

Old trunks indeed. Amongst the jumble of battered furniture, sporting equipment, and dusty camping gear, there were three trunks in the cabin's attic; one marked "Katie" with childhood toys, board games, her high school cap and gown, yearbooks...

Castle made a grab for the yearbooks, but Kate held them away. "I want to make sure there's nothing too incriminating here," she admonished.

"Like you, in a cheerleader outfit?"

"Ugh. No. Like me dressed as Janet in Rocky Ho-"

"Rocky Horror? Are you kidding?"

"We were a progressive school."

"Dammit, Janet," Rick snarked, and she realized he was picturing her in lingerie, but whether it was the white pushup bra or the red and black corset... well, did it matter? For a second she thought he was going to pounce on her right then and there.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "And you, Castle?"

"Frank. All the way."

"I would have taken you for the Brad type."

"Peel that onion, Beckett, until your eyes burn." He tossed his head back and laughed, rolled his shoulders, and yup: there it was – Frank N Furter. Kate stared at him, bug-eyed.

"Ok, we seriously need to discuss this later. But for now..."

She dug in to the second trunk, marked: "Johanna." There were old autograph books in here, and photo albums, some of them very old. Kate frowned in surprise. "I've never seen these before."

She opened one up. "These are from Serbia."

"Your mom's family?"

Kate nodded. Tucked between the album leaves was a clutch of envelopes yellowed with age, the paper brittle. "I'm dying to look at this," she said, "but I'm afraid it will fall apart."

"Who's it addressed to?"

Kate said, "Aleksandar Danilovic. My great, great uncle, I think."

"Hm... I know an archivist at the library who might be able to open it without tearing it to shreds... or at least keep track of them."

They nosed through the trunk a bit more, and Kate phoned her dad, asking permission to take her own trunk and the photo albums from Johanna's. He said, "Sure, Katie. Your second cousin sent those over a few years back and I didn't think to tell you about it, just sort of threw them in there." The unsaid story: he'd been drunk and forgotten about them.

She let it go. "Thanks, Dad." She counted her blessings that he was sober now, and hadn't just thrown them out in his despair after Johanna was killed.

•

Castle texted Kate a week later: "Hey, my librarian buddy just took a look at the letters. Says they're amazing."

Kate: "Let's meet there at lunch – 12:30?"

Castle: "Deal."

•

When Kate arrived at the library's historical archive section, Castle was already there. He introduced Kate to their historian, Madeline Ziglar. She was a small, comfy-looking woman wearing trifocals and a plaid wool skirt. She reminded Kate vaguely of Velma from Scoobie-Doo, although clearly in this case, Velma had a big crush on Freddie that she was trying very hard to conceal. Kate was glad that, in general, Castle was not partial to wearing ascot ties.

Ziglar said, "I'd like to ask you to wash your hands before handling the documents, then put these gloves on." Although she followed the directions, Kate felt oddly put-upon, since the documents technically belonged to her family, although she knew that any rough handling or body oils could further their deterioration.

They sat down across from Ms Ziglar at the big table, and she produced a little stack of white, neatly-typed sheets.

"Now," she said, "If you think you'll get money from Sotheby's for those letters... you're likely mistaken unless you find a collector who's interested in magicians from the early 20th century."

Beckett and Castle exchanged a startled glance. "Furthest thing from my mind."

Ziglar went on. "And, um, you may not exactly approve of the direction these letters take."

"How so?"

"You can decide for yourself when you read them." Her face flamed pink. "To avoid their being handled any further, I've had transcripts made. One had to be translated from the Serbian."

"Wow, thanks," said Kate.

"You can thank Mr. Castle for his generous donations to our literacy programs," smiled Ms. Ziglar. "I'll leave you two to read them. If you want to look at the originals, please do be careful." She then gave Kate a strange, sharp look – assessing her, somehow - and left them alone.

Rick said, "How about if we take turns reading them aloud?" Kate nodded. She loved hearing Rick's voice, and she was getting used to reading aloud to him when she found a story or passage she enjoyed.

Rick went first.

"November 29, 1919

Dear Alek,

I was so surprised and pleased to find your letter from 1916 still awaiting me upon my arrival in Schenectady. The landlady at my boarding house kindly picked it up from General Delivery and held on to it, for over three years. I hope this letter finds you still alive and well. It is strange being home in New York, which seems so quiet and orderly after the noise of war. I wonder whether you were able to get home to your village, and how your family fared while you were away fighting. In the terrible losses suffered by Serbia, I have feared for your safety.

I will always remember your friendship, and the brief but surprisingly happy time we spent together on Corfu. I have perfected your trick with the coin, but the salt-shaker still mystifies me. Perhaps you will show me some day.

It would do me good to hear from you.

Sincerely yours,

Dickie"

•

Now it was Kate's turn:
"December 24, 1919

Dear Alek,

I was truly delighted that you responded so quickly to my missive. I am grieved at the news of the passing of your dear parents and elder brother, and send condolences to you and your family. It must have been terribly hard to learn they had died only weeks before your arrival home, not knowing whether you survived the war. Your sister and brother must have been so happy and relieved when you arrived to collect them from the orphanage. Have they grown much? From the picture you showed me all those years ago, I imagine that by now, they are both nearly ready to "fly the nest" as we say in America. I wonder if there is a similar phrase in Serbian.

I trust that you have returned to a normal life. But I also wonder if you will grow restless. Living in such a small town, and running the family shop, must feel very different from traveling, even in such trying circumstances as battle. I am sure the stories from your shop are more wholesome than the foxhole humor we shared as we recovered from our respective ailments.

I hope you are still practicing your magic tricks. From what I remember of your lovely sister's photograph, perhaps she would be a good magician's assistant.

When I returned from the war, I found that my fiancee, Elizabeth, had withdrawn her affections and become engaged to marry another man. For some reason, although I loved Elizabeth, my sentiments toward her were more those of a friend than a husband, so I feel little regret over the matter. Perhaps you have an idea why. But I have little time to dwell on matters of the heart.

I have begun working as a copy editor for the local newspaper, the Schenectady Times-Star. It is an exacting position, but it is reasonably well-paid. I spend evenings walking by the lake or reading, especially in studying the works of your idol, the great Harry Houdini. Your prestidigitation lessons in our hospital beds started up a passion that I've parlayed into a small extra income. Occasionally I am hired to entertain at parties, and hope to develop an act for the vaudeville circuit. I have developed a facility with mentalist tricks. For my act, I perform "cold readings" and feats of memorization, which have always come easily to me. I have been setting every penny aside. It seems that no sooner do I have a steady position, than I am thinking of taking time off to travel. Your stories of the Serbian countryside have stayed with me over the years. I wonder if you would think well of my coming for a visit.

I eagerly anticipate your next letter. I hope you will have the happiest of Christmases, and wish you and your family a joyful new year.

Yours very truly,

Dickie."

Rick read the next one aloud to Kate.

"January 18, 1920

Dearest Alek,

My greatest and most dear friend, your letter fills me with such a mix of hope and joy that I can barely contain myself. I feel the deepest regard for the courage of your lion's heart, that makes such a bold overture of trust and love, in full knowledge that everything can turn against you. But I will never turn against you. Even across the miles, and across the years since we parted, my heart has always been with you, and always will be."

Rick stopped, and exchanged a wide-eye stare with Kate. He said, "Oooh, this is getting juicy."

"Well, go on!" she urged.

"My heart breaks with regret for the words we only spoke with our eyes and hearts, never our lips. I have had such feelings all my life. I had heard of such things in whispers of sin and depravity, and seen only glimpses, but I thought I was truly the only man who felt this way, and the loneliness was slowly destroying me. Now I know that the look in your moss-green eyes was not my imagination. Now I know you returned my affections then, and I return yours, even after these long and solitary years. I want nothing more than to board the next steamer to Europe and hurry to your side.

Learning of your family's struggles, though, makes me wonder if there is another way. I know you would never leave your sister and brother behind, but perhaps I can find a way to act as your sponsor. There is so much opportunity here in the States, even for immigrants. If Johanna and Goran are anywhere near as remarkable as you, they will learn English with little effort.

I earnestly beg you to think of this possibility, to discuss it with your family – discreetly of course - and consider coming to New York. It breaks my heart to think of you all alone there, when we could be so happy together here.

I would be so grateful to receive a photograph of you, so that I may look upon it at sleeping and waking.

Yours Always,

Dickie."

They took a moment to digest this. "Wow," Kate said. "You suppose they were really in love?"

Rick shrugged. "Stranger things have happened. Your turn."

•

March 12, 1920
"Dearest Alek,

I thank you for the wonderful photographs, both of yourself and of the three of you together. Johanna seems a delightful girl..."

"That would be my great aunt - " said Kate. "No, my mom's great aunt."

"- and it appears to me that Goran will be even taller than you are. They will have no lack of work once they have learned English. I am glad to know they are studying diligently. I received a short letter from Johanna. Her handwriting is excellent, and when she is of age, she may find work as a stenographer if she continues to work hard at her spelling and grammar.

Of course, you may decide to continue as a shop-keeper once you arrive here. New Yorkers are noted for their free-spending ways, and I am sure you will do well at whatever you set your remarkable mind to. But you are such a great magician, you will likely find work on the vaudeville circuit. We might even work together. For myself, I cannot imagine a better partner with whom to spend my days and nights.

If we ourselves are thrifty, I see no reason why you might not arrive in New York by the summer of 1921. I would not want you all to travel during hurricane season, when the seas can be unduly wild. Summers are dreadfully hot here, but we have small compensations to offer, including sitting on a porch of the evening, drinking lemonade and talking until the moon goes down. It is not quite the same as sharing a bottle of wine on a moonlit beach in Corfu, but we will make new memories."

• Rick picked up the next transcript, which contained two letters:

"April 17, 1920
My darling Alek:
I am overjoyed to learn that telephone service has finally come to your little town. You were right, the world grows smaller every day. I have asked, and made arrangements, to speak with you from a private office at the Schenectady Times-Star. I will be telephoning the exchange you gave me on Friday, the Twenty-Third of May, at about four o'clock in the afternoon. I would be most grateful if you can possibly be alone to take the call. There are things I would like to say that no one else should hear."

Castle smirked. "You think they had phone sex?"

Kate blushed. "Hey, this is my great-great-uncle. A little respect?"

Castle kept reading:
May 23, 1920
My darling Alek:

It was beyond my wildest dreams to hear your beloved voice, and to speak with you, alone, with such fervent and intimate endearments.

"Well, I guess that's a yes to the gay phone-sex," Kate giggled.

"Hm. A trunk call?"

Kate looked at Castle blankly.

He said, "Never mind. Old elephant joke." Very old. Very.

"...Do not worry about the cost of the conversation. It was worth a king's ransom just to hear you laugh, to hear you breathe as if you were right next to me, whispering in my ear. I only hope it is the first of many times, although I must admit I shed a tear or two at the end when we said goodbye once more. Was I the only one?

I am worried about that cough. I hope it leaves you swiftly. Stay warm and drink plenty of strong, hot coffee. God knows it got us through the war.

I pray God watch over you, until I may see you and embrace you with all my heart and strength. Until then,

Love Always,

Your Dickie."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "That may very well be the very first record of phone sex in history."

"Not just that. Gay phone sex."

"That weird you out, He-Man?"

Rick shook his head. "Love is love. Your turn."

•

Kate read now.

"June 12, 1920
I wept to receive your letter. God is so cruel, that he would strike you like this, so far away from me, when my arms ache to hold you and my heart beats only to comfort you. I have enquired (sic) at the Department of Immigration. In their infinite wisdom, they have decreed that tubercular patients be turned away from our shores."

Rick blew out a breath, oddly moved. "I should have expected something like that."

Kate said, "This story's beginning to come back to me now. Alek died young, but sent my great-grandfather and their sister to America somehow. Sold the family store, I thought."

"...Although you did not ask, I have enclosed $200 in American money in hope that it will be worth more in your local exchange rate, that you have a little to sustain your treatment. I have made arrangements to come and visit you. Please, my dearest, hold on, that I may see your green eyes once more before they close forever. Until I can be with you again,

Always yours,

Dickie."

•

"Jesus," Rick muttered.

He grabbed the next letter.

"Translated from the Serbian:

"July 31, 1920
My dear Miss Danilovic:

Thank you for informing me that your dear brother, Aleksander Danilovic, has passed on into the arms of God. He shall be in my prayers always.

Although I know you are working hard to learn English, I have taken the liberty of having a Serbian friend translate my words into your language, so that there will be no misunderstanding.

Alek had hoped you and your brother Goran would accompany him to find a new home with friends in the United States. Sadly, his tubercular condition destroyed that dream. I am very pleased to hear that you and Goran continue to have a clean bill of health.

Before his untimely death, Alek wrote me one last letter, asking that I look after you and Goran, to which I eagerly agreed. He was terribly aggrieved that you were taken from him, and that you cannot inherit what little is left of your family's belongings. You know as well as anyone how much he loved you both, and how hard it was for him to leave those who love him behind. I share your sorrow that he died alone.

I have already made arrangements to retrieve you from the orphanage at Belgrade. I want you to understand that my intentions are wholly honorable, and that I will care for you and your little brother as I would my own family, if I had one."

Rick stopped a moment and looked at Kate, who was digging in her purse for a tissue. He handed her a clean hankie, of which he had a seemingly inexhaustible supply.

"It's like you're some kind of magician," she smiled weakly, and blew her nose. Rick swallowed the lump in his throat.

"I thought that ran in your family, not mine. My family..." he stopped for a moment, and his face went a little pale. He swallowed.

"What is it?"

"I'll just keep reading."

"I only ask one thing of you. Your brother Alek was a dear friend to me, a great man, and a brave soldier. In our correspondence, we discussed wartime incidents to which no innocent mind should be privy. Alek told me he kept all my letters. For the sake of his memory and friendship, if you still have them, please burn those letters from me, keeping only this one."

Kate smile wryly. "So much for honoring a sacred memory."

Rick said, "Maybe she knew without reading them. Maybe it was a different kind of honor to keep them." He cleared his throat again, and continued, "...I have already booked passage via steamer and will take the train from Bordeaux to Belgrade. I have written the Mother Superior at the orphanage separately, with instructions to ensure your paperwork is in order.

If I have smooth sailing, I should arrive in early August, and have you home from Ellis Island by the first week of September. I look forward to meeting you and Goran, and hope that in some small way my actions can repay all the kindness your brother Alek showered upon me. His smile was truly a saving grace for everyone around him. May he never be forgotten."

Castle paused a moment, then finished the reading the letter to Johanna Danilovic:

"Asking that I may only be your very humble servant,

Richard Jonathan Rodgers"

Kate coughed a little. "Wha?"

"If you'd been drinking coffee, that would have been a spit take."

"Let me see that."

He handed her the transcript. She frowned and looked over at Castle. "No relation, I'm sure."

Castle nodded. "Rodgers is a reasonably common name."

They leafed through the portfolio containing the letters, which were written in faded blue fountain pen ink, the writing neat and graceful, but not flowery. Some pages had split at the folds, and been carefully glued down and patched together like puzzle pieces, everything safely separated by sheets of translucent, protective vellum. It turned out that a couple of envelopes had been saved as well, with a "Richard Rogers" clearly listed as the writer, with a general delivery address at the Schenectady post office. At the back of the portfolio the librarians had mounted two photos: one a faded and blurry snapshot, of a group of soldiers sitting at a table, laughing over a bottle of wine. Below it was labeled "Corfu, 1915." One of the men was fine-boned with a shy smile, large eyes and long lashes. The other was big, his arm draped casually across the other's shoulders. He bore a strong – but not exact – resemblance to the man who was now called Richard Castle, who had been borne Richard Alexander Rogers.

The second picture was a posed shot of the same big man, in straight-nosed profile, looking as dapper as an Arrow Collar ad, with patent-leather hair and a tuxedo. He was surrounded with mystical symbols: eyes, question marks, and nonsensical hieroglyphs. It was actually a black-and-white post card, embossed with fancy lettering:

"Can the Great Rodgini Read Your Mind?
Be Amazed! Tonight Only!

Orpheum Vaudeville House"

The label: "Advertising Lobby Card, Schenectady, NY, 1920."

Hands shaking, Castle took out his phone to snap a picture, and as if by magic, Ms. Ziglar stopped him. "I'm so sorry, no flash, Mr. Castle," she said, almost cringing in embarrassment. Kate's mouth twitched. It was always hard to deny Rick. What she'd once mistaken for entitlement had turned out to be simple delight that people would give him what he asked for if he was nice enough about it. He occasionally pushed the right to ask, but never abused anyone who got in his way. Although he certainly did love pouting at Kate once in a while.

"I understand. Ok without a flash?"

Ziglar nodded, he braced the phone on his elbows, and snapped the photos carefully so as not to blur in the dim light.

He tapped around on his phone screen.

"Castle..." Kate began, but he held up a gentle finger, asking her wordlessly to wait.

His phone buzzed about 30 seconds later. It was Martha.

"Sorry, Mr. Castle, no speaker phone..."

Castle draped an arm around Kate and pulled her in close, so she could hear.

"Mother. I have to keep my voice low, I'm in the library."

"What a lovely picture of your great-grandfather. Never seen that one before – wherever did you find it?"

"I just want to know, those magicians he toured with in the 20s and 30s, what were their names?"

"George and Joanie Daniels? Brother and sister act, I believe."

"Where were they from?"

"I don't know, the Balkans, Transylvania, maybe. I never met them, they both got married and left show business when the Talkies killed vaudeville. You may be shocked to learn, that was before I was even born. Why?"

Kate had her hands over her mouth. Rick said, "Gotta go. Do I have a story for you."

He turned to his wife, and they lay their foreheads together, eyes closed, just breathing. Warmed, yet again, by that feeling of coming home.

Kate whispered, "Castle... my Grandpa George was a magician. So was his father, and his grandpa, too."

"This is crazy, right?" he grinned.

She whispered, "I just figured out where I want to take our next vacation. Just you, me, a bottle of wine, and endless kisses."

He nodded and murmured into her hair, "Corfu sounds good."

Apparently it's against the rules to make out in the library archives. But they gave it a try anyway.