Castle is the copyrighted property of ABC Studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

Dedicated to the wonderful ncb1.

Family Secrets
Chapter One

It was old-fashioned, in this day of commonplace speech-recognition software and audio-conversion options. But sometimes Marty still preferred to type her stories. There was something about the click of the keys, the feeling of the pads beneath her fingertips that could make the words stop merely appearing and start flowing, the way they were this afternoon.

She'd long since learned to tune the noise of the Ledger's newsroom out at times like this. That was why she'd finished an entire paragraph before she realized her boss had been standing there the entire time she'd been working on it.

"There's this new idea that's coming into style," he said when she finally flicked her eyes up. "All the rage. It's called meeting a deadline."

She didn't turn her head or move her fingers off the keyboard. "Keep your pants on. I'll have this in before morning."

"Really? You know what time it is now, don't you?"

She suddenly became aware that the noise level in the newsroom had tapered off. "Should I?"

"Weren't you the one who told me you had to knock off right before five so you could go to some kind of family gathering tonight?"

"Yeah. So?" She still had time left, didn't she? Pushing up her sleeve, she checked the antique wristwatch that had once belonged to her grandfather. "Oh, crap."

It was 5:15. No wonder things were quiet.

Pawing through a pile of papers – hard copies were another old-fashioned thing she sometimes still found surprisingly useful – she found her earpiece. "I'm sorry, Reston. I have to go."

"Your story isn't done," he answered, stating the obvious.

Marty looped the earpiece over her ear and flicked the switch. "Veta, sign on." As she heard the virtual assistant's answer, she continued, "Look, I'm no more than an hour from finishing this. I can get out of there by nine, ten at the latest. Then get home, finish this up and upload it to the server. Before midnight, okay?"

He folded his arms. "What if I said it wasn't okay?"

She started stuffing papers and her pad into a messenger bag. "Veta, save the text on my terminal and send it home. Then run a standard spelling and grammar check and put the file up about…oh, nine-fifteen or so."

"Yeah," said Reston. "I thought that's what you'd say."

"I can't miss this one!" She took a breath and softened her tone. "I can't, Bill. My father would kill me, and he'd have every right."

"What is it, someone's birthday?"

"No, we had dinner on Sunday for that." She closed the messenger bag and reached for the garment bag that hung behind her desk. Clipping them together, she put the whole thing on her back and picked up her bicycle from where it rested against the window. "This one's a surprise, something special to celebrate the big announcement."

"Big announcement? Is this something newsworthy?"

"Yeah, but I agreed to wait a few days. Don't worry. We'll run the story first."

He sighed and shook his head, though she could see a smile starting at the corners of his eyes. "I'm holding you to that. And to your deadline!"

She was halfway to the door, hooking a leg over the bicycle frame. "I promise. On both."

"…and Castle, how many times have I told you? Don't ride your bike in the hall!"

She didn't. Well, not really. There was no point in riding the bike directly from the newsroom, since it was on the fourth floor and she still had to ride the elevator down. But she could straddle it, and once she got to the lobby the coast was clear enough. There were only a couple of steps from there to the street, after all.

"Veta," she said as she swung into the street, pedaling furiously. "Any messages waiting?"

"One message," came the answer. "From Rory."

Marty's lips quirked into a smile, but it fell off her face quickly as she swept out of the bike lane onto a side street. Someone honked behind her. Even now, a decade after stringent new fuel economy regulations had taken millions of cars off the road, New York's rush hour traffic was legendary and only about half the streets had been re-striped with bike lanes.

"Voice memo or text?" she asked once she'd gotten into an alleyway.

"Voice memo."

"Go ahead and play it."

The voice in her ear shifted. "Hey, Marty," came Rory's familiar tenor. "I just got on-shift, and there's some interesting news on the rumor mill. Why didn't you tell me?"

She chuckled. "Veta, record and send a voice memo response."

"Go ahead."

"Not my story to share," she said. "That's what you get for missing Sunday dinner, though. End and send, Veta."

"Okay. Sending…complete."

"Good. Now check traffic and confirm the quickest route to my parents' place."

"Working. Bike lane routes only?"

She sighed. "No, I'll risk regular traffic." And sidewalks too, if she had to, ticket risk or not. She'd promised she wouldn't be late this time, and it wasn't like she didn't know any cops.

"Route found." The directions rattled off in her ear, and she turned back out onto a larger street. Fortunately, though, she only had few more miles to go – and she'd taken her trail bike today. Downshifting, Marty pedaled harder.

She was out of breath as she loudly burst through the front door. Her father was in the kitchen, concentrating on whatever he was making. "Don't ride your bike in the house, Marty."

"I'm not!" She wheeled it over to lean against the wall next to the front door, dropped her bags next to it, and walked up behind him. "Am I late?"

"If you have to ask that question, you probably know the answer already." Richard Castle grinned and turned to kiss his younger daughter hello. "Though, for once, it's not the usual answer this time. Your mother just called. She got tied up and it'll be about an hour."

"Oh, good." She peeked around his right shoulder. "Salad? Then what am I smelling?"

"Pasta carbonara, Alexis style."

"Yum. She's here?"

"I'm here," said her older sister, coming into the kitchen with her phone in her hand. "Just had to solve another crisis. Ellie met a boy. You know how it goes."

Her dad groaned theatrically. "That was bad enough the first time around." His eyes slid over to Marty. "And the second."

"Then it's a good thing it isn't your daughter this time," answered Alexis easily as she came over to give Marty a hug. "How are you doing? Haven't seen you in a while."

"Work deadlines, stress. It's awesome."

"She made staff writer two weeks ago," said her father with a proud look.

"Hey! Congratulations!"

She ducked her head, embarrassed, but couldn't keep the smile off her face. "Thanks. How are Eddie and the kids? Are they coming?"

"Not tonight," answered Alexis. "Tonight's just parents and children. But they'll be at the official party next month."

"Parents and children? Does that mean Jay is actually going to make it?"

Her father sighed heavily and Alexis rolled her eyes.

Marty pressed her lips together, exasperated. "Why am I not surprised?"

"He has a gig," said her father. "He's not sure when it's going to finish."

"And I have an article due," she snapped, feeling her temper rise. "But I'm here. This wasn't a last minute idea."

"No, but –"

"Veta, call Jay."

"Marty," said Alexis. "Let it go."

"But –"

"He'll only make us miserable, whining and complaining about wanting to be somewhere else."

"Veta, cancel." Her shoulders dropped. "Damn it, Alexis, it's not just Mom's birthday. She went in and announced her retirement today. Didn't she?" She looked at her dad.

"Yeah, she did." A smile appeared, though she noticed it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Said it was worse than my last day at the precinct. Harlan cried actual tears."

"Good for him. Did she get a picture?"

"We'll find out in fifty-five minutes. It was definitely a once-in-a-lifetime event."

"It was a once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon. Harlan cried, I'm on time, and Jay can't be bothered to make it." Marty sighed and took off her earpiece. "I'm going to hide the bike and then go upstairs and change. Then I'll come down and help out with the wine."

Her dad tugged on her ponytail as she walked by. "Braid this for you?"

"Da-a-d. You and your braids."

"They keep my fingers limber!" He held them up and wiggled them to make his point.

"And you haven't needed to braid stuff for physical therapy since I was five," she retorted. "I was going to wear it down."

"Oh, no. We're going to be fancy tonight. That means no hair hanging in your face."

"I'll brush it out." She started for her bags and bike, but he followed her into the living room.

"Come on, Marty," he said. "I'll make a special one –"

"Dad." She turned to protest again, but the words died on her lips. His tone had been teasing, but the look on his face wasn't. It'd been a while since she'd seen that particular tightening around his eyes.

"All right," she said instead. "Just let me change first."

"You have such beautiful hair."

Chuckling, Marty met her father's gaze in the full-length mirror that still sat in her old bedroom. "That compliment gets you nowhere."

"But I mean it so sincerely."

"It's pure narcissism. I have your hair." She had his eyes, too. Their absolutely identical coloring had been a family joke for years, particularly during puberty when she'd occasionally found a hair that had transitioned from the same shade of brown to the same shade of silver.

He finished brushing and ran his hands through it. "Mine was never this long. Of course, that meant it was neater."

She shrugged. "Neat's a lost cause. The ponytail's easier."

"At least you haven't cut it short. It's gorgeous when you wear it up." He sectioned it off and started to weave pieces back and forth. "I wanted to talk to you."

"I guessed that."

"How would you feel if it wasn't just your mother who retired?"

She had to force herself not to jerk her head out of his hands. "What? Writing's in your blood, Dad. You've put out a book nearly every year since you were younger than I am now."

"That's right, which means there are more than fifty," he answered, still braiding. "Don't you think that's enough to let me lie…down –" he cut off abruptly. "Sleep. Re…relax. Br-breathe some air." He dropped his hands. "Damn it."

"Take a break?" she asked after a moment. "Rest on your laurels?"

"Yeah," he muttered, not looking at her. "Words ran away from me again."

"They just do that because they're afraid of what you do with them." This, too, was an old joke. Marty had been a senior in high school when she'd first heard the medical terminology: lingering effects of traumatic brain injury including minor episodic aphasia.

After an awkward pause, he took a deep breath and started working on her hair again. "Anyway. Don't you think it's time I just slowed down and enjoyed life? Spent some time with your mother, maybe do some traveling?"

"I can't imagine you stopping writing," she said slowly. "Though it'd make keeping the Heat Index easier." She'd created that web site – the official, definitive compendium of his work – as a college project, and still updated it every few months.

"I don't think I'll quit completely. I'm just…ready for it not to be so intense." He reached for an elastic band. "There. All done. What do you think?"

"It looks awesome. You do such good work," she continued, acknowledging the double meaning in his question. "But it's up to you. Why now?"

"Why not now?"

Was that an evasion? "Is it because Mom's retiring too?"

"Partly. But partly because I…need to slow down. We've both been thinking about it for a while, actually. Her birthday seemed a good time to make it official." Inspecting her outfit, he brushed her shoulders off. "A skirt? You really did dress up tonight."

"I wear them every now and then. I even –" she used his arms to steady herself as she stepped into the dress shoes she'd brought – "have been known to wear heels."

He looked her up and down again, a smile crossing his features. "I really mean it this time. You are a lovely, lovely young woman. And not just because you're my daughter."

"Although I'm sure that helps." She laughed, but it wasn't easy. Changing the subject was classic Richard Castle behavior when he didn't want to discuss something.

Yet he'd been the one to start this conversation.

Marty took a breath and reached up to touch his face. "Dad. I love you, and I love Mom, and I'll support both of you whatever you decide. All right?"

He drew her into a hug. "All right. Thank you."

"Just be sure it's what you really want and for the right reasons."

"It's for the right reasons. But we'll make sure."

"I think he's making the right decision," whispered Alexis as they stood upstairs in the hall waiting to spring the surprise.

"Really?"

"He's not young anymore, Marty." Her sister seemed to be choosing her words carefully. "And Dad and Kate have never really had a chance to spend a lot of time together."

"But retirement? That…sounds awfully permanent."

"He can't write forever."

"I know. It's just…" she trailed off. Why was she feeling so uneasy about this? "Is it because I moved out this past summer?"

"No. I don't think it has anything to do with you – or me or Jay, either. I think…I think he just doesn't want to miss out on the time he has left."

Marty swallowed. Yes, her parents had been older than usual when she was born, but was she really ready for this kind of thinking?

"Don't worry," said Alexis in response to the look on her face. "It's not like either one of them to hide things. If there was something we needed to know about, they'd say so."

"Would they? He missed a word earlier. It's been a long time since I've heard him do that."

"You said it yourself. You're not around quite as much now that you've moved out. That means you're not going to see some things quite as often." Alexis' eyes were back on the front door. "I think I hear her shoes on the steps."

The celebratory dinner had been a success, though Alexis was right; it was different being with her parents now that she didn't see them every day. Marty found herself getting caught up in the conversation as much as she ever had, however, and her concerns faded.

Maybe her parents really did just want to enjoy some time to themselves.

"So," asked her mother over dessert, "how's the new position going?"

"It's a lot more work," she said. "In fact, I can't stay too late tonight because I've got an article due by midnight. But I love it. They're taking me a lot more seriously now, and my editor just accepted my first investigative proposal."

"Really? What about?"

"Secret pardons. You know, when someone's paroled for no apparent reason and then their criminal record is quietly expunged once they're out of prison? That's not the way it's supposed to work under New York law."

"Going after cover-ups already?" asked her father with a smile.

"Not really. I don't think there's anything illegal going on. It's more about exposing a loophole in the system. If people really are being imprisoned when they aren't guilty, why be so secretive about it? Is it a public confidence thing, or…?" she trailed off. "I haven't really had a chance to start on it yet, but I've found a few cases that might be worth exploring."

"Recent cases?"

"No, Mom," she said, her lips quirking. "Though I'm probably only going back five or ten years. Come on. I'm not out to make the NYPD look bad."

Her mother exchanged a long glance with her father, and there was some sort of undertone in her voice when she answered. "If there's bad police work going on, it…shouldn't be kept under cover."

"Well, the whole point of the jury system is to prevent innocent people from going to prison just because the cops didn't do their job right. And if we're talking dirty cops, then it's something that really needs to be brought to light. But I don't think it's going that far," she said. "I really do think it's just about the PR aspects."

"Maybe," said her mother, her tone normal again. "I'll be interested to read the article when you're done."

"I'm aiming to have it ready around the end of January. That's assuming something else doesn't come up before then. If there's a big trial I may get assigned to cover that instead."

"So you're definitely leaning toward law enforcement and crime issues?"

"Maybe you've forgotten who my parents are? A mystery writer and a police detective? It's kind of natural."

That elicited laughter around the table, but she didn't miss her parents' second exchange. They had always spoken as much with their eyes and their facial expressions as they had with words. This time, Marty was sure. There was definitely something they weren't saying.

And by their expressions, it was something significant.

But these were her parents. She sighed inwardly and reminded herself that her family already provided plenty of source material for the section of the Ledger's site still colloquially known as "Page Six." Pulling them into one of her articles could backfire badly.

They shooed their parents away from cleanup after dinner was finished. "We're celebrating you tonight, Kate," said Alexis. "You're not supposed to do any work. Sit down with Dad and have a glass of that wine Marty set out."

They both laughed, but gave in with no further arguments. Marty followed Alexis into the kitchen with a stack of dirty plates, pausing for a moment to slip her earpiece on and check for new messages.

She had one, in text this time. I was on shift Sunday. Sorry I missed the birthday dinner. But now that Beckett's leaving, does that mean I can get away with calling in sick to go to yours?

Chuckling, she sent a reply. Your decision, your risk, your reward. And your funeral too.

"Who was that?" asked Alexis when she pulled off her earpiece.

"Rory." Picking up the first dish, Marty started rinsing. "He's grumping about not hearing about Mom's retirement in advance."

"Should've been here on Sunday."

"That's what I told him." She put the plate in the dishwasher and reached for the next one. "But he was out on patrol. He's still pretty far down on the seniority ladder, you know."

"Yeah, I know." Alexis opened a cabinet to get a plastic container. "Okay. That's new."

"What's new?"

There was a picture taped to the inside of the cabinet door, showing the contents of the cabinet when fully stocked. Underneath it, the items were listed in their father's scrawl. "Maybe they hired a new housekeeper?"

"Neither one of them mentioned doing that," said Alexis.

"It probably just hasn't come up." Marty went back to rinsing.

"Probably. So anyway, what's up with you and Rory?"

"What?"

"You and Rory. You brought him up twice at dinner tonight, and now you're smiling when you text him. Is there something new?"

Marty stopped rinsing. "What are you talking about?"

"Just that I haven't seen you blush like that in a while."

"I didn't –" she broke off. Had she? "Oh, come on, Alexis. He's practically my brother."

"Practically doesn't mean actually."

"We've just been…talking a little more lately," she said, turning her attention back to the sink so that she could hide the blush that had no doubt reappeared, based on the sudden warmth in her cheeks. "I think he gets bored working second shift sometimes."

"Mm-hmm. You do know that the majority of police calls come in between 5:00 and 9:00 p.m.?"

"Now you sound like Lanie."

"Well, given that she's his mother, maybe I should be the one who calls you out the way she ordinarily would."

"Don't you have any idea how much work we're both doing right now?" She slid out the dishwasher's top rack and began loading glasses. "He's still trying to get on with the forensics unit, and I just got promoted."

"In other words, you're both getting your professional lives straight. It'd be a good time to start working on the personal ones too, don't you think?"

She stopped and looked up again. "Don't you remember what happened last time? Liz Ryan and I didn't speak for over a year after her brother and I broke up. And by then the four of us were finishing college, and she was starting her Peace Corps tour."

It was Alexis' turn to blush. "I'm sorry. I forgot all about that. It's just…it seems natural that since you and Rory and Jay and Liz all grew up together, you'd still be friends as adults."

"We are friends. The mistake is for any of us trying to be anything more." Marty picked up another dish. "It screws things up, spins them around. Not to mention making for some pretty awkward dinner parties."

"It did for a while, yeah. But that was only once, Marty. It could've been a fluke."

"Or it could not have." She was thankful to see her mother walking into the room. "Mom. Hi. We should be done in a few minutes."

"Good," answered her mother as she refilled the wine glasses she'd brought with her. "We were thinking about putting a movie on. Do either of you have a preference?"

"Speaking of all the work I've been doing." Marty glanced at her watch. "I'm sorry, but I really need to go. I've got to finish that article, and then re-read the one I wrote about your retirement."

"You guys are running something in the Ledger tomorrow morning?"

"Yeah. I promised Reston a scoop when I asked to leave early, though I didn't tell him what it was, and I actually wrote the article over the weekend. I just need to give it a last look."

"You didn't turn it in and trust him to sit on it?"

"I write for a newspaper, Mom."

"That's true. Alexis? You staying?"

"For a while. Go on up and change," she said to Marty. "You can't ride your bike home in that dress, and I can finish up here."

She'd forgotten the odd looks her parents had shared over dinner until she came back downstairs after changing. They weren't in the living room like she'd thought. Instead, she overheard low voices coming from her father's study.

Marty picked out her mother's first. "…not going down that rabbit hole again."

"I know there's no guarantee that she'll find him," her father answered, equally soft. "But I just want to make sure she doesn't. It's only a couple of phone calls."

"No," answered her mother. "We agreed to leave this alone –"

"And that's exactly what I'm trying to do! Make sure it gets left alone."

"She said she's only going back five or ten years. Pulgatti's pardon was way before then."

Marty blinked. They were arguing about her article?

"But what if she does go back further? Beckett, there can't have been that many of these things over the years. I just want to protect her. Don't you?"

"Don't even think about accusing me of that. Castle, you know what happens every time we try to slay this dragon. She is not a damsel in distress and you are not some modern-day St. George!"

"Oh, for the love of – I know she doesn't need rescuing. Just prevent – protect – safe – oh, damn it." He turned away unexpectedly, and she didn't have time to duck out of sight. The surprise was plain on his face. "Marty."

Sighing, she came the rest of the way into the room. "I was just coming to say good night. Is everything okay?"

Both of them took on neutral expressions. She'd always hated it when they did this. No matter how much or how obviously they disagreed about their children, Richard Castle and Kate Beckett had always made a point of presenting a united front toward them.

"Yeah, honey," he said. "Everything's fine. Alexis said you're heading out?"

"I need to finish those articles," she answered. "The deadline's midnight."

"Okay." He drew her into a hug, and reached out an arm toward her mother so the three of them stood entwined in each other's arms for a long moment. "We love you. Don't forget that."

"I know. I love you too."

"Let us know when you get home safely," said her mother as she stepped back.

"I will." She left them in the study, knowing they wouldn't start arguing again if they thought she was still in earshot. But once she was out the front door with her bike, she paused and looked at it for a long moment.

"Veta," she said into her earpiece while she watched traffic whiz by. "Set up a database search of corrections and parole records, starting about ten years ago and going back indefinitely. Send the results to the pardons article file."

"Okay," said the assistant. "Search type and term?"

"Proper name," she answered. "Pulgatti."

I know that this fic breaks some rules. It's OC-centric, and the canonical characters are only playing background roles. But it simply grabbed me around the throat and wouldn't let me rest until I wrote it. It's not quite done, but I know how it ends and enough of it is now written for me to go ahead and start posting one chapter a week.

Special thanks go to jackwabbit for reassuring me I wasn't crazy and that I should write this story, and to nia for information about the long-term effects of traumatic brain injuries.

More author's notes are available on my web site: LFVoy dot net slash authors-notes slash notes-on-family-secrets.