Disclaimer- I still don't own Castle, Andrew Marlowe does, and I don't want him to sue me for playing in his sandbox.

I was called early that morning; there had been a murder. I put on my father's watch and my chain with my mother's ring on it, and Castle and I headed out to the scene.

"I don't like him," Castle said. We had been discussing Alexis's new boyfriend, Chase, she brought over last night. He was from Australia, and I think it was just the accent, because I personally thought he was a douche, always one-upping everything either one of us said. Either that or maybe the sex was great. I wouldn't know. I kept waiting for her to go insane and experiment with a lesbian. But maybe that would happen when she was out of college.

"I don't like Chase much either, but what are we going to do? I hear echoes of Pi," I said. The Police tape was already up, and we walked into a scene behind a building in the Meat Packing district. The sun hadn't even risen, yet, and the emergency flares were out on the street. I lifted the tape and Castle and I went into the scene.

"Hey Beckett, Castle," one of the uniforms said.

"What do we have?" I asked.

Laney was knelt down beside the body. It was a man clutching something in his hand. There was blood shooting out of his ear and the pavement was cracked.

"Hey, girl!" Laney cried. "Black male, mid to late teens. It looks like he fell from one of the upper floors of the building. There's a bullet wound, so chances are, he didn't die from the impact. I'll get the gun from the bullet in the lab. Body's still warm."

"Do we have a time of death?" I asked her.

"A uniform saw it, so we have a time of death as four-thirty-two."

"What's he holding?" Castle asked, kneeling down to see.

"A phone. It's not working. This kid had no ID on him."

"Book it into evidence," I said. "If he was holding a phone, it'll give us some more info on him with IT. What floor did he fall from?" I asked, looking up at the warehouse above us. It was under construction and plastic sheets were taped over the windows, but most of the sheets were flapping in the wind.

"They think the fourth or fifth," Laney said. "We're already searching it."

"I'm going up," I said, standing up straight.

Inside the building, there was no electricity and the elevator car was in the basement and not working. I found the stairwell and Castle and I started on our way up. "They didn't see anybody leaving the scene," I noted.

"Maybe the killer's still in the building."

"I hope so. Close this case up quick."

On the fourth floor, the uniforms were searching for evidence.

"Find anything?" I asked.

"Nothing yet," one of the cops said.

I did a lap of the floor on my own: this had obviously once been a factory, it was being repurposed into loft apartments. The demo had happened, but not the rest of the construction. There were sheets and sheets of plastic blowing through the wind, taped up from the ceiling. Castle was taking a lap of his own; I found the north-ending stairwell, but the door was partitioned off with police tape already. Castle and I went upstairs to see the fifth floor, and do a lap there.

I heard Castle yelp and I jumped. He was at the south-ending stairwell, and someone came running through the sheets of plastic.

Nobody would run if they weren't guilty of something. It was somebody short; I braced myself to block them.

This small person rammed right into me. I grabbed him, and slung him to the floor.

"NYPD! Freeze!" I shouted. I was looking at the head of someone with dark hair and big coat on.

"No!" It was a little girl's voice. "I didn't do anything! Please don't!"

I realized I was wrangling a little girl. She was maybe eight years old, if my judgment was correct. But I knew that kids were smarter than most people gave them credit for.

"Listen," I said, pinning her arm behind her. I hoped I wasn't hurting her or causing her pain. What the hell was a kid this young doing out at this time of night? "I don't like to handcuff kids. But you're at a crime scene. And we need to have you answer some questions."

"Please don't take me to jail!" she pleaded. "I won't do anything wrong! It wasn't me!"

"Sweetheart?" I said, trying to build some trust. "Don't run. I need to take you to the police station to ask you a few questions."

"I can't go!" she sobbed.

"We're not going to hurt you," I promised. "We're here to keep you safe."

"I'm not a snitch!" she snapped. "And I'm not your bitch!"

I decided to ignore that, although it made me smile. "Language, young lady. If you come with me, I promise I won't handcuff you."

She didn't respond.

"Did you understand?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, I'm going to let you up," I said. She probably saw something and could be a witness. But I had to keep her safe. I had the feeling she was in the foster care system or was a runaway. "But if you run away, we'll catch you and handcuff you. Okay?"

"Okay," she muttered.

I let go of her pinned arm and stood up; Castle had been watching us.

She stood up and looked at me with fearful eyes, but I could tell she was trying to keep the bravado up. She was a little thing with pale skin and light brown hair, dark eyes. Her hair was really long and wavy, if not greasy, at the roots, and it turned into ringlets towards the ends. She looked like she could use a good hot shower and probably a meal, too.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Natalie. But everybody just calls me Nat."

"What's your last name?"

"Holcomb."

"What's your mom and dad's number?"

She shrugged. "I think…" she looked confused for just a moment. "I don't know."

"What's your home address?" I asked, kneeling down to look her in the eye. She didn't meet my eyes.

"I think… I don't know," she muttered. "I'm a foster kid, I don't really have a home."

Damn. I've have to call a social worker and see if I could find some information on her.

"Would you like some breakfast?" I asked, standing up. "We can stop at Carl Junior's."

"Oh!" she cried. "I love that place!"

"What do you like?"

"I want a sausage biscuit," she said, sounding excited. "No, no, the bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit! Can I have a hashbrown, too?"

"Of course."

"We're stopping for breakfast? Count me in!" Castle cried.

"What's your name?" Nat asked.

"Detective Beckett," I said. "And this is my husband and partner, Richard Castle-"

"Oh my God, I know you!" she squealed. "One of my foster mothers used to read all your books! She used to read the Derrick Storm books to me all the time!"

"We have to go downstairs, and the elevator's not working, okay?" I said.

"That's okay," she replied.

"Watch your step," I told her as we descended the staircase.

We took her downstairs and got her into the backseat of the car. I made sure she didn't see the crime scene itself and I had a uniform pick up some biscuits at Carl Junior's. I had him pick up a few extra biscuits for Nat, just in case she was hungry.

"Were you out all night?" I asked her.

She nodded. "My foster brother had a deal and he was supposed to be watching me," she said.

"What's his name?" I asked.

"Jerry," she replied. "I didn't know him very well. I just got put there like three days ago."

"So tell me a little more about yourself, Nat," Castle said.

"I'm from New Jersey," she said. "Well, I think. I think I was born there, I don't know."

"How old are you?"

"Ten," she replied.

"Where do you go to school?" I asked.

"Um…" she looked stumped. "I think they were going to have me in PS 22 up in Harlem. I used to go to PS 34, but they had to move me because of my address."

"What grade are you in?"

She shrugged and stared at her feet. "Third."

"Is that where you live?" Castle asked. "Harlem?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be right back," I said, standing up. I took my cell phone with me to call Child Protective Services if I could place this girl and get her back home. I got a hold of my contact. "Hi, this is Detective Beckett with the NYPD," I said. "I found a girl who says her name is Natalie Holcomb, age ten, she says she's from Harlem."

"I'll look her up," the social worker said. "Ah, Natalie Holcomb. A smart little thing, but she's behind in school. Placed with Merriweather Nash just a few days ago. Hmm…"

"She was at a murder scene," I explained. "She said her foster brother brought her along."

"Oh. That makes things interesting. Do you need me to have her turned over the juvenile services?"

"Actually… not yet. I don't think she was involved in anything, but she might be a witness. We're still questioning her."

"Alright, let me know if you need me to pick her up."

"I will. Thanks."

The uniform came back with the food and I went back to my car. Castle and Nat were playing hangman on his iPhone.

"Hey," Castle said as I came up with the bag of breakfast biscuits.

"Food's here!" Natalie cried, her feet kicking.

"I got a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit," I said, rooting around in the bag. "Oh! And an orange juice."

"Did you get a hashbrown for me?" she asked.

"Yes, I did," I said, pulling it out, handing it over. She moaned with her first bite.

"Natalie, I need to ask you," I began. "we need to talk about what you saw and heard."

"Where?" she asked, wiping crumbs from her mouth with the back of her sleeve. She took a gulp of her orange juice.

"Just now. Upstairs," I said, squatting down so I was closer to her level. She did smell a little bit.

"Oh. Well, Jerry's... got a lot of friends," she said reluctantly. Foster children and children living in poverty were the most likely to join gangs. "He said we were meeting one of them, so he took me with him."

"Where was your foster mother?" Castle asked, surprised.

"Oh. She was over at her boyfriend's," Nat said, her mouth full. She took another bite excitedly and squealed in delight. "I saw her the first day they left me there. I don't really know her that well."

"Can you tell me what happened?" I asked.

She took a gulp out of her OJ. "He wanted me to stay in the alley, but it was getting really cold. So, I went upstairs to find him, but I heard the gunshot. And I hid in the stairs, but I saw him run out and into the stairs, too, but he didn't see me."

"Why didn't he see you?" I asked.

"He was on the fourth floor and I was on the fifth. But it was dark. He had his phone on him, and I saw his face," she said. "He was bald and had this scar down his cheek. Like this." She indicated a scar across her own cheek with her finger.

"Oh," I said. She had told me she wouldn't give up any information, but once I fed her, she spilled everything. I wished I could get all my witnesses to spill with a sausage biscuit. "Can you tell me anything else about him?"

"I think he was like, mixed?" she offered. "He was wearing a leather jacket, too. Oh! I think he had a tattoo on his neck, too."

"Did you see what it was?"

"A mermaid."

"A mermaid, huh?" Castle asked, surprised for the same reason I was.

My jaw unintentionally dropped; she had just described Gabriel Savage, one of the worst drug cartels generals in New York, sneaking krokodile and transporting it from Mexico across the US. I wondered if Jerry had been involved with this gang.

"I haven't seen Jerry since," Natalie said quietly, putting down her OJ. She had pretty much wolfed down her biscuit and hashbrown, but she stopped herself short. "Was he the one that was shot?"

I didn't have any solid evidence that the victim was Jerry, but it didn't look good. This kid couldn't be asked to identify the body. I couldn't tell her yes. "We don't know yet," I said as carefully as I could. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright, he was kind of mean to me anyway, I didn't know him very well or like him much."

"I tell you what. Why don't you come back to the station with us, and we'll have your social worker come by and pick you up, okay?"

"Okay," she said glumly.

Once we had finished examining the area and gathering evidence, we took her back to the precinct. She talked our ears off and had so many questions. She was a cute kid, if she'd just take a shower. We arrived at the precinct right as everyone was coming in for the day. I sent a text to my DCS contact to come and pick her up. Castle entertained her with some of the games on his phone, and then went with Ryan and Esposito to question other witnesses that had been brought down for questioning. I worked on the murderboard. I created the timeline with the dry-erase marker and Nat watched me. She was getting sleepy at this point.

"Why do you do that?" she asked, looking up from the iPad.

"What, this?" I asked. "Maybe you shouldn't see it. This is a murderboard. It helps us organize our thoughts and see if there's any connections. See, here's the timeline, here's where we saw Jerry fall out of the building. And we'll put up pictures of the suspects and the victim and write notes."

"Oh," she said. "You said 'murderboard'. Does that mean there's been a murder?"

I debated on whether or not to tell her, but I knew that keeping secrets was the last thing she needed. "Yes, Nat, there was. That's why I was called to the scene. I'm a homicide detective. I solve murders."

"Who was it?"

I debated again. "I'm waiting on an identity confirmation from the Medical Examiner's office, but we think the victim was Jerry."

Her eyebrows almost shot off her forehead. "Really?" she whispered.

"Did you know him really well?"

"No. Not really. He didn't care what I did. I only knew him for a few days. And he'd smack me around when I told him I was hungry"

I nodded. On the bright pain, she wouldn't know the emotional pain of losing someone close to her. Bad enough that she had been exposed to this.

"Do you know who that guy was that I saw in the stairs?" she asked.

"I think so," I said. "He's been arrested before. And Vice has been keeping tabs on him."

"What's Vice?"

"It's crimes that have to do with prostitution, drugs, gamblings, those kinds of things." Man, she was precocious.

"So find him and arrest him! Isn't that your job?"

"It's not that simple. I have to have evidence, witnesses, and an arrest warrant, or at least be sure that I have enough evidence for an arrest warrant. I can't just go around arresting people because I don't like them."

"You can't?" Nat asked, stunned.

"No, I can't."

"I see cops arrest people all the time because they don't like their faces. Cops kinda suck."

"Hey, watch your mouth, you're in a police station."

"I saw one of my foster brothers get arrested. And put in juvie, just because the cop got up in his face."

"I'll be honest with you, Nat, there are crooked cops out there. But we're not all crooks."

She sighed.

"Do you have one of those computer programs that lets you look through all the different pictures of the possible suspects like they have on TV?"

"No, we really don't."

"What about one of those programs that helps you identify fingerprints?"

"Those don't actually exist," I said. "That's just TV magic. Identifying fingerprints is a painstakingly difficult process, but is admissible in court sometimes."

My cell phone dinged, and it was a text message from my social worker contact. I picked up my phone and read it. As long as she's safe, can you drop her off at this address in Harlem? Talked to her foster mom, she'll be waiting.

"It looks like we're taking you home," I said. "You know you should be in school today, don't you?"

She shrugged. "I don't like school. I kind of suck at it."

"But you need to go."

She pouted.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" I asked.

"An ice-skater. In the Olympics," she said, running her finger along the wood grain of my desk.

I was hoping she'd say something where she needed to learn how to do math and read so I could tell her how much school would help her with that. "Oh, cool," I said, capping the dry-erase pen. "Do you skate right now?"

"No," she admitted blushing. "I really hope I get adopted by Michelle Kwan and she'll teach me."

How terribly sad. Yes, I had dreamed of getting adopted by Mel Gibson when I was nine and thought my parents were being unfair and mean, but that had just been a fantasy that hadn't lasted long. Of course, she wanted a famous parent that she adored. What foster kid didn't dream of that?

"I'll tell you what; I'll give you a ride back to Harlem, okay?"

"Okay…" she sighed.

I stopped off by interrogation to let Castle know where I was going. "I'm dropping her off up in Harlem. I'll see you by lunch, okay?"

"Alright. Take care."

Nat was too light to put in the front seat, so I had to get her to sit in the back and made sure she put on her seatbelt. She peppered me with questions the whole way up to Harlem, although she was getting sleepy. "Like, how many murders do you solve a year?" she asked.

"I think around thirty," I said.

"What kind of gun do you use?"

"I carry a Sig Sauer nine millimeter."

"Do you keep a stuffed animal in your car?"

"What?"

"Like for when you find a little kid at the scene and you need to distract them from what just happened?"

"No, I don't, actually. Maybe I should."

I crossed over into Harlem and found the apartment address.

This building looked pretty old and dilapidated. I helped a sleepy Nat out of the car and took her grimy little hand. Merriweather's apartment was on the tenth floor. The elevator was working, but only a few lights were still on. I could smell urine and other choice bodily fluids in the hallways as we walked through. This building should have been condemned. I doubted the heat worked at all in this building.

Merriweather's apartment with 10F. I knocked on the particle wood door and almost shoved my knuckles through. I had seen a few doors with holes in them.

A black guy in a giant Knicks nylon pullover and a ski cap with a matching emblem opened the door. He was sucking on a lollipop. I heard Natalie gasp, just slightly. He didn't say anything, just glared at me.

"I'm looking for Merriweather Nash," I said. "I've got her foster daughter here."

"Hey, shawty," he said to Natalie, still not smiling.

I felt Nat's apprehension as she shrank back behind me.

"We take her," he said to me. "Ms. Nash called me."

"No, I need to drop her off with her foster mother," I said.

"We take her," he repeated, glaring at me. I saw the Savage gang's mermaid tattoo on his collarbone.

"No, you won't." I pushed Natalie behind me. "Unless I can meet Ms. Nash, I'm not dropping her off."

"We cool."

"No, we're not," I said. "Come on, Natalie, I'm taking you back to the station." I took her hand and lead her down the hall back to the elevator.

"Thank you," she said as we got to the elevator. "He's one of Jerry's friends, I think. He always had them over."

"He's got a gang tattoo of the same guy we think murdered Jerry," I said. "I'm not leaving you with him." I knew enough about gang violence to know that if they didn't kill her, they'd try to pressure her into joining and committing crimes for them. And, eventually, they'd force her into prostitution. Her situation seemed so hopeless, suddenly. But I was not equipped to raise her. I couldn't parent a foster child, I really couldn't. I didn't know how. Her education was underpar and she had probably seen a lot of violence. Her chances of getting adopted were almost nil now that she was almost a teenager; few people adopted kids that were her age, and she probably knew it. She was probably hiding a lot of behavioral problems and I certainly couldn't deal with them. I was completely unprepared to foster a child. I couldn't do it. "I'm calling your social worker. Your foster mother said she'd meet us and she wasn't here."

"She doesn't live here," Nat said. "Jerry told me she lives with her boyfriend in the Bronx."

I looked down to see her face. These things didn't seem to faze her at all. All this week she had been fending for herself? I wondered how many of her other foster homes had done this to her, too. Merriweather Nash was only in it for the check from the state, obviously. This apartment was a hovel and probably didn't cost more than $500 a month and this building should be condemned, but nobody was going to do it. My heart broke for Natalie, and again, I felt powerless to help her. How many other thousands of kids out there were in her situation, too?

I put Natalie back in the backseat and got out my phone. I called her own social worker and told her what was going on. "I really think this woman investigated and her fostering license investigated. That was not a safe place for Natalie."

"Detective, I'm sorry, we're backlogged with investigations," she told me. "We won't be able to investigate this until next month at the earliest."

In a month, those gang members probably have either killed Natalie or put her into a child sex ring. She'd become one of the lost children in the foster care system's bureaucracy. "Can you relocate her into a safe foster home?" I suggested.

"We've got twenty children in the system that already need safer foster home placements right now. I'm sorry, we're kind of stuck. Unless you want to keep her in police custody, our only other option is juvenile hall."

Amazeballs, I thought, sighing. "We'll take her back to the station and figure things out." I hung up the phone, not caring if I was being rude. "What a waste of gas, driving up here, right?" I asked Nat.

She shrugged, and was quiet.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," she muttered quietly.

Our foster system sucks in this country if shit like this happens, I thought bitterly. To read the statistics was one thing, but to see them was quite another.