Path to Paradise


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He made the coffee, batting her hands away when she tried to go for the easy stuff already percolated. "I have a French press," he grumbled, narrowing his eyes at her.

She surrendered, backing off, but she turned and went for the refrigerator, pulling fruit and cheese out of the crisper, evidently intent on doing her share this morning.

"Is Alexis having breakfast?"

"Not likely," he admitted with a wince. He hoped it appeared to Beckett like a general grimace rather than a specific indication of his daughter's unwillingness to intrude.

"Too bad," Beckett murmured, but it was a half-hearted attempt. Both of them would rather not have his daughter haunting a bar stool while they made love with half-hidden glances of their eyes. (Or so Castle liked to think of it. Beckett was less of a moony-eyed girl than most, but more of one than he had ever dreamed.)

"No body?" he asked, pouring water into the kettle.

"No. Now you've jinxed us, Castle." But she kissed his cheek as she passed, her hand at his ass for balance. 'Balance.' Right. She just liked touching his ass. He was wise to her ways.

"Don't you know that's how you break a jinx? You talk about the elephant in the room," he answered. "Now we'll be free and clear all morning."

Her phone rang.

Beckett groaned and slapped his shoulder, reached across the long surface of the bar to snag her phone - all so that she wouldn't have to step away from him.

Castle could appreciate the risk, and he reached out to steady her as she overextended. Beckett got the phone to her ear and answered with a breathlessness that sent Castle's eyebrows shooting up in a suggestive comment. She pinched the thin skin over his hip in retaliation, rolled her eyes.

"No, Esposito. We weren't having sex. Do you have a body drop or what?"

Castle laughed. She just elbowed him to get moving on the coffee.

He went back to work, grinding his fresh coffee beans himself, taking pleasure in the details - of both her one-sided conversation and the coffee as well.

When she had ended the call and simply stood there, staring into space, he waved a hand in front of her eyes and nudged her away from the fruit and paring knife. "Earth to Beckett."

She frowned. "Sorry. It's - Ryan. Ballistics came back on a slug from that murdered woman. The one I told you was found in concrete?"

"Ha, yes, sleeping with the fishes."

Kate's brow creased. "It was Ryan's service weapon."

For a moment, Castle's mind went blank. Ryan's service weapon. It made no sense. Ryan was the last person to shoot some-

"Tyson," he croaked, horror washing over him so completely that he swayed.

Beckett caught his hips, lifted her eyes to him. "It was the weapon Tyson took off Ryan, yes."

"Tyson killed this girl?"

"With a gun?" she said, shaking her head. "Why would he deviate from his m.o.?"

"He wouldn't," he said, his throat dry. He felt like he was convincing himself, convincing her. "He wouldn't."

"No. He wouldn't. He just wants us to know he's still out there."

Castle rasped a deep breath into his lungs, fists planted on the counter, but he felt the effort in his back, the scars tugging. His head bowed, but Beckett inserted herself right up against him, brought his chin up with her fingers.

Her eyes were serious, and very certain. "We'll figure this one out. We won't let it go down this way."

"Yeah," he got out, nodding rapidly. He felt he'd been made into a brittle shell, hollowed out by an unseen hand. "You will. You should go, Beckett. Boys will need you."

She cupped his face in her hands, very lightly, kissed his lips. "Not without you. We do this together, Castle. I want you in the bullpen where I can see you."

"But Gates won't let me-"

"I don't care," she hissed. "You're coming with me. Now make us coffee to go."

X

Jane Herzfeld was a cute blonde student. Had been. Had been a student. She'd been shot, dumped at a construction site. Workers had hooked her wrist with the leveling stick, freaked when they'd seen the body. After the police - including his detective - had gone out to the crime scene, Beckett had called him there's a girl in the cement.

He'd made a joke. It had been an interesting twist. A mob hit, he'd said. And one more tangible effort Kate had been making to maintain their connection, to keep him involved even though he hadn't been allowed back at the Twelfth. He had gotten the feeling it was on the advice of her therapist. Which was fine, it was; it actually had helped. But now-

Ryan gave him a glance as he hurried into the bullpen. He met Beckett at the whiteboard, gave a doubletake seeing Castle in his usual spot by Beckett's desk.

"Hey, man," Ryan said, reaching out and squeezing Castle's shoulder. "How's physical therapy?"

"Sucks," he grimaced. "But it works. Allegedly." He got a disapproving look from Beckett, but there was a familiarity in it that was soothing.

"It works, definitely," Ryan nodded, failing right now in the small talk department. Understandably.

Castle braced his hands on his knees. "You know, Ryan, none of this is your fault. The fact that he used your gun doesn't make you complicit."

Ryan's nostrils flared, but his head ducked, not meeting Castle's eyes. "That weapon was issued to me by the city of New York. I let it out of my hand, and now a girl is dead. So please do not tell me that it's not my fault."

Castle couldn't find the words to say that might alleviate Ryan's sense of responsibility. Ameliorate the horror. He wasn't sure there were any.

Ryan cleared his throat and looked up at Beckett. "I'm going to start a canvass at Jane's apartment, have them show Tyson's photo around. And hopefully the room mate is back in town and I can talk to her."

Beckett nodded and Ryan turned on his heel, headed back for the elevator without another word. Castle sighed, rubbed his hand down his face. "He's not responsible for this. Any more than I am."

"You're not. But. It's a cop thing, Castle," she murmured. Her knee nudged his, the barest impression of warmth, and he glanced up at her.

She was trying to smile.

He made an effort too. "How's tonight look?" He kept his voice down. "Are you on Wall Street duty again?"

"No," she said shortly, waving her hand at the whiteboard. "Occupy protests have been bumped down on the priority list. This is too... damning."

She went quiet, giving him one of those entirely-rare helpless looks. She didn't usually show her vulnerable face in the precinct, even to him, unless they were truly alone. That she had come out with now, in the middle of the bullpen, spoke to a frustration that only therapy usually could tackle.

And he knew that, but it didn't stop him from trying. "After we get as far as we can tonight, let's go out for dinner. However late it is. All night buffet. Something. Unwind."

Beckett rubbed her forehead but turned her back to him, her eyes on the white board and all the wheels they were turning, all the items in transit, all the leads still open and not yet yielding results.

She looked grim. The weight of the world.

"Beckett," he said, pushing to his feet to stand at her side. "It will come. We won't let this get away. We'll solve this thing."

She gave a short huff and tapped the marker against her chin, her eyes churning with details, timeline, pieces of the puzzle not making a clear picture. "Of course we will," she said briskly. "But dinner will have to wait."

He knew she'd say that, but he'd had to try anyway.

Castle looked pointedly at his watch to garner her attention. "I have physical therapy in an hour, but I can be back after that with dinner. For everyone still here."

She frowned. "Tell me you aren't coming here straight after."

"I'm not?"

"Castle," she muttered. "Go home after, take a nap. You'll need it if you're going to stay up with us on this one."

If you're going to keep up with me.

It was true, but it still irked him. She was leaving him in the dust. It tasted like grit, but he swallowed it. "Fine. I'll probably pass out on the ride home anyway-"

"You said you wouldn't." Her eyes snapped to his, her body orienting to his in an instant.

Castle gripped her elbow as if that would stem the flood of horror rising up in her eyes. "No, not riding the subway, just the car service. I told you I wouldn't, and I'm not. Especially not if Tyson's around."

Beckett released her breath, and he could see her forcing herself to relax again, to smooth over her face, to wipe clean any trace of that edgy anxiety she still had over his safety.

And he had no idea what to do about it. What could he do? He was a man who still needed a nap after a physical therapy appointment.

"Go," she murmured, reaching out to squeeze two of his fingers. A grip that felt like love. "Be safe."

"I'm going," he said quietly, curling his fingers into a fist to squeeze her back. As subtly as they could be. Gates really didn't like him, and even now he could see the woman eyeing him from her office window. At any moment, she'd be out here to hurry him on his way, pointed remarks.

He stepped away from Beckett and took his coat from the back of his chair, debated whether or not to struggle with putting it on. With an irritated sigh, he decided against it, turned to leave.

Beckett stopped him, her hand falling to the coat thrown over his arm. "You know they're predicting snow?"

He blinked, stilled by the force of her quiet. "Snow."

Beckett lifted her head, cutting her eyes once to Gates in her office. Her lips turned down but she looked back at him, as if resolutely. "I'll ride down with you, Castle."

She was going to make him put on his coat. Or help him put on his coat in the stupid elevator. He knew her; he could read it in her eyes.

Castle's lips quirked. "What's wrong with me that I find that romantic?" he murmured.

Beckett actually laughed - short-lived and wry - but it was a laugh.

He counted it as a win, and conceded to being dressed in the elevator.

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