Standard Disclaimer.

Sorry for those who read the spolier and had to wait...started back at uni for a second degree and it has SO much reading...

Anyway, this is a sequel for Roving Heat, but is set in current season five and is NOT AU. I'm assuming they both put in the hard yards after when I set Roving Heat in season three.

Enjoy.

FIXED THE TIME ZONE ISSUE (sorry) m(_ _)m

Kate looked at the mocha and cream comforter and the pearl sheets slightly bemused. All she had to do was straighten out them- her slept in side and the wrinkles on his side where she had reached for him in the night.

Despite the knowledge somewhere in her still sleep-hung over-brain that a day off meant changing the sheets, she hadn't even tried to make the bed when she emerged from them after 9 that morning. It had become an unconscious routine; had for almost a year because they saw a lot of usage when she could sleep in the next morning.

But Castle hadn't been in them the night before, or any night this week and there was no reason she couldn't just tug them back into place.

Now, almost mid-morning, she pressed at her nose with the back of her wrist, trying to get to the itch before she had to sneeze. Dust did that to her. Dusting: Done. Washing: Hung out. Shopping: Sufficiently stocked. Bed: Empty of Castle. Couch and office: also empty of Castle.

The last one made the biggest difference to her day off. It wasn't painful, just unusual enough to make her blink. They wouldn't be going out today to a museum or a movie or for a walk. They wouldn't be spending the day in either. Today was a day off just for herself.

It was nice enough out that she might try for ten miles today. Drag her Dad away from his case for dinner. Lunch would be better- Lanie might be up for drinks tonight. She could use a girl's night.

Or she could stop trying to fill up the rest of her day, she chided herself when she felt her butt vibrating. She inhaled on a sniff, looking up at the ceiling to control her dust reaction long enough to have a phone conversation without sounding like she had a head cold.

She dug it out and held it up. Unknown caller. Huh.

"Beckett."

"Katherine Beckett?"

"Speaking." Still looking up she wondered if maybe she should get the feather duster out and do the corners too. Especially in her room so that she and Castle weren't staring up at cobwebs.

"This is the Los Angeles Police Department."

She was used to getting bad news, had trained her brain to move on to the next solution when something didn't go her way with a case, but her normally agile mind froze, still paused over a mental image of Castle's arms around her, splayed out on their backs, sucking down air. But while her brain balked at the thought of processing the implications of that statement, her body began a quiet rebellion leaving her mind scrambling to mount a defence. She blinked eyes trying to clear the fog and focus just so she had the concentration to force her stomach steady and her throat to open. She needed air and she needed to talk; she needed to know what the hell the LAPD wanted.

"Yes," she croaked.

She sounded like an idiot.

"We're calling with regards to Richard Castle; you're listed as his emergency contact."

"That's right," it was too faint. Had he even heard her? Oh, God, what was going on? "What happened?"

God, what happened? Please tell me he just got really drunk at a launch party somewhere and just needs me to post bail. Just be okay.

"Ma'am,"

"Detective," she inserted firmly. If she was going to get bad news she was not about to be fobbed off as just another Ma'am.

"I'm sorry?"

"Detective Katherine Beckett, NYPD," the title helped clear the panic enough to concentrate. "Now tell me what the hell is going on."

"Understood, Detective. At 9.05 last night a Missing Persons report was filed with our department for a Richard E. Castle. It is our policy to wait 24 hours before processing a MP and notifying and contacts, but they were quite insistent that I contact you."

Missing? She sucked in a breath and looked at her watch reflexively. Just after 11. He had been missing since 9 LA time…12NY time... 11 hours.

Wait. 9pm LA… 12 midnight NY.

Castle. She bit off a groan.

"Ma'am?"

"He's not missing," Kate sighed, relief kicking the crap out of her system, restoring oxygen, tricking out her heart rate.

"Excuse me?"

"He's not missing," Kate repeated, revelling in the loosening of her chest and enjoying her first free breath in over a minute. Her diaphragm ached and she pressed the heel of her palm to her sternum, trying to soothe the throbbing. Man, Castle was bad for her health. "He called me last night and he was fine."

"What time was this?"

"We were on the phone until after 1am NY time." 10pm LA time.

"Detective, are you sure?"

"Positive. Who filed the report?"

"It was filed by…a Paula Haas. She said she was his agent."

Why would he run away from Paula? Why would he go underground at all? Did he say something she was supposed to have picked up? What had he talked about last night…he spent the morning with the script writers for Naked Heat, was on set for the afternoon. They had been filming the scene with the Texan and the black pillow case interrogation. Natalie had asked him to demonstrate how he would have gotten himself out of the situation…had offered to tape him to the chair. Then she invited him to the event she was hosting for one of her charities.

Oh. That would do it.

"Are you the officer who took the report?" she asked, resigned.

"Yes Ma'am. Detective."

"Was there another woman with Ms Haas when she filed this report? Maybe a blonde? Tall and looks a lot like -"

"Natalie Rhodes?" the man interjected.

Figures.

"She was there?"

"Yeah," the officer on the other end let out his reply on an amazed breath but caught himself and cleared his throat. "She was quite distressed."

"I'll bet she was," Kate muttered sourly.

"Detective?"

"He's not missing. He's just…gone underground."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"You don't have to, just dismiss the case. He's not missing."

"I'm going to need some evidence to officially drop the case. He hasn't been back to his hotel and we have no credit card usage since before he…went underground. May I have your permission to review a copy of the call you received from Mr Castle last night?"

She felt her face flame.

"No!"

Her gut clenched just thinking about what he had made her do over the speaker last night, what she had said to him. God she had missed him so much.

"It was a personal conversation. When he contacts me next, I'll get him to call you if you leave me a contact number."

She entered her credit card details and hit process. She reached back in her office chair and turned on her printer.

"Sir, a family emergency has come up…"

Her receipt page loaded and she fired it off. Great, she had half an hour to pack and be out the door. Maybe she should call for a taxi now.

"It doesn't sound like I have much of a choice,"

"No, Sir," Kate admitted. You don't.

She knew it was a bad idea. Half the population of the world over a certain age knew it was a bad idea, but she had been on a tight deadline and faced with the knowledge she was going into battle with the upper echelons of Hollywood, Los Angeles with only one small duffel bag, she wasn't going to leave them behind.

Damn Natalie for being right, but she needed the height, she needed the boost.

Just not when she sat in Coach. Every woman knows not to try and navigate airports and planes in high heels, and combating the feeling her knees were just under her ears, she had to admit they were so right.

She shifted her knees a couple of inches to the side, scraping her skin with the friction of her pants flat up against the back of the seat in front of her. With her heels she was way too tall for there to be enough leg space. Her small shift – admittedly about the second one in the last quarter of an hour- prompting the teenage girl in the seat to turn and look at her suspiciously.

The blonde glared and seconds after she turned back, the seat reclined as far as it would go, driving Beckett's knees into the ground and pinning them there. She bit back a pained exclamation and tried to kick off her heels so the seat wasn't lying in her lap. Pressed against the window she used the modicum of extra space on her side to slip off one but in losing the second, knocked her knee sharply into the man next to her.

The older gentleman next to her snorted wetly, breaking the rhythm of his snoring. On his other side a gangly leg encased in black skinny jeans and sketchers twitched in annoyance. She couldn't say whether his face was as transparent as his body language because she couldn't see most of it for curtains of hair, piercings and a drooping, anaemic looking beanie.

She didn't care if she would berate herself for it later; she was taking First Class on the way back.

"All passengers please return your seats to the upright positions and make sure your seatbelt is securely fastened. We ask that you remain seated until the plane has completed its taxi at which point you are free to use any electronic devices."

Kate tuned the pre-landing message out, shifting in her seat to restore circulation and favoured the Flight attendant with a smile when she leaned over to wake The Snore-o-matic. Kate got a flash of light on eyes through the curtain of dyed black hair when the younger of her fellow passengers drew out of his slump long enough to appreciate the Flight attendant's proximity when she leaned across to rouse the older man between them.

Typical teenage male. He hadn't learnt any subtlety.

The guy started awake so suddenly with such a look of bemused remorse, it was almost cute. He mumbled his thanks to the hostess who smiled and moved up a row of seats to tell the teen to pull her seat back up and off Beckett's lap. Beside her the man discretely pulled his cuff to his mouth, just where his beard starts under the guise of masking a yawn, but she knew he was doing the drool check. If there is any, she can't see it for the salt and pepper hair on his chin.

Wonder what Castle would look like with a beard.

She squinted at him, trying to superimpose Castle's features like a grid overlay, picturing a lighter, sandy coloured shade. Her mind recalled Officer Hastings' writer/partner and she shot for that shade. A little less full perhaps and a little bit of grey – just one or two hairs to tease him about until she caught up. Wow, he was 40 now. He's entitled to a few greys.

"Is there something on my face?"

She blinked and with a flush realised she had gone off on her tangent still staring at her fellow passenger. He was blushing as well.

"No, no. You just…look like someone I know."

That was embarrassingly unbelievable. You think that spending all your time with a best-selling writer, you could come up with a less cringe-worthy story. The old 'uns aren't always the best ones.

They spend the next fifteen minutes until the seatbelt sign releases avoiding each other; him with the inflight magazine he never got the chance to read and her staring out over LA going over her limited game plan.

Find Castle.

While the plane bellied its way towards the terminal missing a little rubber she took her phone off flight mode, watching it refresh with her nail dangerously close to her mouth. She caught sight of it out the corner of her eye and ripped her hand away from her face in disgust; she was not looking to develop a new nervous tic.

No new messages. One missed call from an unknown number with a LA area code. Maybe it was the police department getting back to her. They better not have subpoenaed that call recording…Oh God, why did she have to tell them she was a detective? Why couldn't she just let them think she was a professor or an editor? No one in the LAPD would care that Richard Castle had very vocal phone sex with a Wall Streeter.

If anyone pulled that recording she was going to kill him.

She swiped her thumb and brought up her contacts and let it linger over his name but got a too sweet smile and narrowed eyes from the attendant so slipped it back into her bag.

She had already left a message and he hadn't replied. Even if she did call him, his phone wouldn't be on. He was off grid.

Not missing she told herself again. He would not have called and had such a normal conversation with her if he was being held hostage somewhere. Wouldn't have said how he wished the actors could all see how she and the boys worked so they would look more authentic. How the stunt double fell on her face trying to get out of the chair when he wrote it was Rook who did that.

He wouldn't have told her about the way the actor for Jameson Rook had been following him all day, even into the toilet. Had mimicked the way he held himself.

If he was really missing right now and in danger he wouldn't have let that spiral into the things they said or the things they had done…Her throat went dry, her cheeks hot. She tried to swallow it down but it only lead to graphic images he had burned into her brain with whispered words and she tried not to squirm in her seat.

He was not missing. He was hiding.

?