A/N: An international conspiracy thriller starting at the 12th precinct. This is how I wish the case of Beckett's mom's murder and "Always" had gone.

To get started: This starts towards the end of "The Limey" but to make it all fit I have to change a couple scenes in The Limey. Most notably, the conversation over wine between Kate and Lanie didn't happen because in this fic, the reasons for her keeping her secret and not moving forward with Castle are different (and actually discussed!). Second, because I was a bit perturbed by the cop-out of the show never calling the guy out for weapons trafficking to a rebel group with a terrible human rights record, my story picks up in the interrogation room with the final suspect.

To get us in the mood and re-cap The Limey case, the italics in the beginning are from the show. I move on from there, extending that final interrogation scene.

UPDATE: This chapter has been posted before, but given a reviewer's comment on my switching character points of view, it is updated slightly. Thanks for the helpful review Ifvoy!

Disclaimer: Unsure as to why this is necessary given the name of this site, but anyway. Don't own it. Duh.

Beckett: You know the thing that I find intriguing is that before you became Biggie Slim your name was Darius Young, best known for launching several failed internet startups.

Biggie Slim: I'm just a man ahead of my time.

Colin Hunt: Well the SEC thought you were a man trying to fleece investors.

Biggie Slim: See, I was never charged for that.

Beckett: One of your ventures, a music sharing website based in the UK, caught the attention of British authorities. And when they tried to shut it down, an aid to the Minister of Culture lobbied on your behalf. And do you know who that aid was? Nigel Wyndham [now Deputy General at the British Consulate in New York]. In fact, this is Nigel stepping out of the very same black SUV… We also know that your cousin is in the service, Drew Harris.

Colin Hunt: A staff sergeant. He works at an armory. He supplied the missiles.

Beckett: You knew that Wyndham had access to the diplomatic pouch and you saw an opportunity [to smuggle missiles into Uganda].

Colin Hunt: Supply and demand.

…

Beckett: "You know, the thing that I still can't figure out is 'why Uganda.' Why would you care?"

Biggie Slim: "Man, it wasn't about Uganda. It was just about the money. I didn't even know where Wyndham was shipping the stuff to."

Beckett's outrage begins to leak through her carefully constructed façade. "You didn't even think to find out where these weapons were being shipped? Haven't you heard of Joseph Kony? The Lord's Resistance Army kidnaps kids and forces them to fight for them. They massacre entire villages and you're saying it wasn't about Uganda? You sent them missiles they used to shoot down doctors that were just trying to help save people and you don't even care. I knew someone that went on a Doctors Without Borders mission too, just like Naomi Allan, and he would come back with horror stories of children butchered, boys fleeing for their lives, entire families dying from famine. And you sent them weapons without even a second thought."

Biggie Slim looks up, surprised by her outburst and ongoing monologue. "Look, it wasn't about all that. It was just about the money."

Beckett bursts out of interrogation, furious. She can't erase from her mind the images Josh had shown her from his trip to Uganda. As harrowing as some of the murder scenes she came across in New York City, these stories stole her heart. She stops in her tracks when she sees Castle, his eyebrows furrowed, looking helpless and concerned. Concerned? She lets out a shaky breath and nods toward the break room.

"I need some coffee," she mutters, turning slightly. "You coming, Castle?" Her tone is less playful than usual, dropping the usual innuendo for a hint of genuine fear that he might not follow. Bringing up a former boyfriend during the interrogation was probably not her best move, if she didn't want him to run off to Jacinda.

Castle shakes the depth from his expression and saunters after her, waiting beside her as she fiddles with the espresso machine for a change. "Let me help you with that." He pushes into her space desperate to make coffee, as if clinging to a machine will help him stick to her. Maybe he's trying to maintain a sense of normalcy, she hopes.

"No, Castle, I got it. You like lots of foam, right?" Beckett detects a glint of hope in his eyes as he takes the coffee she offers him. But he takes a step back instead of forwards as he sips, bringing them, yet again, to a stalemate.

After a few minutes each lost in their thoughts and eyes drowning in their coffee cups, Beckett breaks the silence. "Josh knew so many of those families. The stories he would tell when he got back from his trips… they made me feel guilty for being so wrapped up in my mom's case. Her death was brutal, but compared to some of those kids, some of the women raped and tortured, the men hacked into—" her voice cracks remembering.

"Kate—"

"No, Castle, it's true. His stories would make me feel so selfish, like I was missing some bigger picture. And I know that she was my mother so I'm allowed to care a bit more, but when I hear people like Biggie Slim saying he was just in it for the money, it reminds me of Coonan, just in it for the money, not seeing the bigger picture around her murder, either. Sometimes I feel like we're all game pieces in someone else's game. I only know a miniscule piece of it and I'm just moved around like the rest of them, totally ignorant of the bigger play. I just wish, sometimes, that I could be the chessmaster."

Castle opens his mouth to reply when the break room door is thrown open.

"Beckett!" Gates' harsh voice interrupts their thoughts as she walks into the break room thoroughly disrupting whatever peace they had managed to obtain. "There's been another murder and you're on the case. It's at 116th and Frederick Douglass Blvd. CSU is already on the scene."

"Wait. Captain, that's not in our jurisdiction." Beckett says confused. "And anyway, we still have to wrap up this case."

"You don't think I know that?" Gates snaps. "The paperwork for this one will have to wait. Your name and contact information for our precinct was found in the victim's wallet so they're handing it over to us. So generousof them" the Captain sneers as she turns to walk away.

"What? Why?" Starts Beckett.

"Don't question me, just get there. Now." Gates is out of the room before she can hear Beckett's reply.

"Yes, sir." Beckett calls after Gates anyway. She then looks to Castle, her eyes questioning whether he is coming with her.

"I'll get your coat. Meet you at the elevator." he responds softly. "I have to, uh, cancel some plans with Jacinda." At the mention of Jacinda, Beckett looks devastated for a quick second before schooling her features.

"Right, of course. I'll get the boys." She doesn't offer to let him go on his date anyway; she wouldn't be able to stomach it if he did. She wonders if she should try to talk to him in the car but she can't fathom what to say that will get him to stop pulling away from her. What did she do? Why his sudden interest in a bimbo stewardess—er, flight attendant? Castle comes up behind her, pressing the down button on the elevator to halt her ruminations.

Beckett takes the final turn too quickly, her tires screeching as she pulls to a stop at the crime scene. From her car she peers across the yellow "caution crime scene" tape and what she sees immediately turns her face white. She clenches the steering wheel.

"Castle." It's all she can whisper. Her breath comes in shallow bursts and she stares straight ahead.

On the passenger side of the car, Castle can't see the crime scene and he gives her a questioning glance, only the quick tapping of his middle finger on his knee an indication that he is itching to get out of the car. Within seconds Beckett shakes her head, takes a deep breath to construct a professional veneer and reaches to open the door. The only sign that something might be wrong is the split second she fumbles with the handle and the dead cold in her eyes as she approaches the victim.

Once Castle sees it—and looks at her with those all-telling, worried eyes— Beckett can tell that he knows. The woman is propped up against a building, knees bent and arms open, blood on her shirt and running down her arm to pool and dry in her cupped hand. She had been stabbed in the stomach. The scene is eerily reminiscent of her mom's murder except this victim is wearing a colorful and boldly patterned skirt and bright orange blouse, contrasting nicely with her darker black skin. Cops in uniform guard the crime scene and Beckett has to show her badge and introduce Castle to get past.

"Detective Howard, I'm Detective Beckett from the 12th and this is my," she hesitates slightly, voice wavering, "partner, Castle." For how long, she wonders. "I understand you are handing the case over to us at the 12th?

"More specifically to you, Detective. Do you know Djani Kayembe?" Detective Howard is a tall, fit and authoritative-looking African American, and while Beckett has never met him, she knows he has a solid reputation, his case closure rate almost rivaling hers. "I found her passport in her purse along with a tourist visa."

"Never met her or heard of her. My Captain said she had my contact information?"

"On a slip of paper also in her purse, along with directions to the precinct."

"I don't know why" Beckett starts to question but gets cut off by Detective Howard before she can finish.

"Don't care why. She has your name in her purse so it's your case." He speaks gruffly, obviously not wanting the extra work or the argument.

"Looks like she's new to town" interrupts Castle, intrigue showing as he nods at the map folded up on the ground nearby. "I bet that fell out of her purse during the attack."

"According to the stamp on her passport she got here three days ago. 'Welcome to America'" Howard said with exasperation, walking off.

Beckett turns to face to the medical examiner on the scene, a completely unmemorable middle-aged man dressed in a wrinkly brown plaid button-down shirt that didn't match his blue slacks. "Cause of death?"

"Not sure, actually. She was stabbed and then shot. Or shot and then stabbed. I won't know which came first or which killed her until I get her back to the lab. She hasn't been dead long. Looks like time of death was between 9:45 and 10:30 when the police were called." He mumbles, speaking more to the body than to Beckett and Castle, not even glancing at the team before him and completely unfazed by the bright flashes from the CSU team photographing the body from every angle possible.

"That's why he works with dead people," Beckett hears Castle mumbled under his breath, hands in his pockets, and she shoots him a quick glare. Castle clamps his mouth shut immediately but then gets a glint in his eye and his self-control dissolves in it.

"Why would someone need to stab and shoot someone?" Castle, as always, asks the obvious. "That's the opposite of killing two birds with one stone. Overkill. Or, double-kill." Beckett just rolls her eyes and carefully walks around the body, painstakingly committing each detail to memory, scrutinizing the scene to find anything that doesn't fit.

Once CSU finishes processing the area, Beckett turns to walk back to her car. The case will have to wait until morning, anyway.

"Uh, Beckett?" Castle asks as she turns towards her apartment instead of his loft. Usually she drops him off, if they have to visit a crime scene this late.

She takes a deep breath. "Castle" her voice trails off. She can't say it. Can't just tell him, we need to talk, come to my place, stop pulling away. She doesn't know if she's strong enough for any of this yet, can't fathom she might be ready, that only a week ago she thought she was ready. But she also can't let go. If Castle is going to just pull away from her, if he's not going to fight for her and come after her, she's going to have to do something. But what? Her mind screams at her. And she doesn't know, so instead she sighs, turns left—away from her apartment and towards his loft—and silently berates herself for having this one fear.

Castle's phone breaks their newly established silence, startling both of them as it echoes through the car. Castle takes the phone out of his pocket and his jaw drops.

"Kate." His voice cracks at her name. She tilts her face towards him seeing his distress. He shifts his weight from butt cheek to another, squirming in his seat. His eyes skim the landscape as they drive through the city trying to find an anchor—any anchor but his phone or her eyes, which are wide and inviting, silently beckoning his gaze. She peeks at his phone, still ringing, curious who could be calling that would make Castle react so immediately.

She stops at a red light and turns to him. "Castle?" The lightness of her voice belies the concern and fear growing in her. "What's wrong?"

By now his hands are shaking so fiercely his thumb can hardly find the screen's green button to stop the piercing sound. His mouth moves to speak—to offer an explanation, she thinks—but nothing comes out. Instead he puts the phone on speaker, clears his throat and answers.

"Hello." Castle's voice is low, trembling along with his hands.

"I think you know why I'm calling, Mr. Castle" says the ominous voice of Mr. Smith.