Kate Beckett went down to the morgue. Lanie was cleaning up. The city would be doing so for awhile, but only — only— five corpses, on an otherwise quiet day: the pathologist was done. Alexis had left earlier in the day. "Something's the matter with Castle," Kate said without preamble.

"Girlfriend, the amount of time you spend thinking about someone you haven't even kissed —so to speak— you could buy Manhattan. So, ask him."

"He's gone all quiet and distant after being all meaningful earlier today."

"Meaningful how?"

Kate told her about the two interrupted Castle-perorations. "And then he says no, it's nothing, and walks out. I don't think it's nothing. And I think, I think, he seemed like whatever 'nothing' was, he thought it was me."

Lanie looked at her friend. "Do you feel guilty?"

"Should I?"

"I don't know. But if you did, it might suggest whether whatever got his tongue was your fault or something else."

"I don't think I feel guilty." Kate was a detective. Her whole life worked around looking at someone's actions, staring at the scene of the crime, unquote. It had been a long, exciting day; she had interrogated 'the person responsible for the bombing' at least three times, maybe four. She knew she was tired. She hadn't given any real thought to anyone else; the hunt, the chase, the puzzle focussed all her attention while she was on its trail. Now, with the game off its feet, her vision no longer tunnelled. Had she noticed when Castle stopped being the faithful hound next her? No, he hadn't quit till the criminal was at bay, led away. But had he been with her, or just pursuing?

Lanie broke in. "Okay, usually it's men who are stupid and women who are crazy, but let's assume for the moment he thinks it's the other way around. What could you have done that he'd think you were stupid and you'd think he was crazy to feel that way? Anything?"

"That's a little harsh, Lanie."

"I am tired. And you have been being stupid where he's concerned for way too long. As I have said before."

Kate thought about the day. Thought about a cold cup of coffee.

"Oh shit."

"You want to talk about it?"

Kate was getting out her phone. "Maybe not right now not to you."

"Maybe not so stupid after all —"

Kate was up the stairs to better cell reception. Castle wasn't answering. She called his home.

"Martha, may I speak to Rick?"

Castle's mother's voice would have cut glass. "He's not here." A little thaw as Martha said, "The ten o'clock news broke your story. Congratulations."

"Castle's work as much as anyone's. Do you know where he is?"

"No. I imagined he was with you. Celebrating." The diamond voice again, the word 'celebrating' pronounced with the same relish as 'frolicking with lepers.' Though there was probably a charity…

Kate wondered if her mouth could shape the words Do you know what's the matter? "He left. He— I think there's something. On his mind." Was that enough of her pride sacrificed to find out what Martha knew?

"Detective, there's been 'something on his mind' ever since he met you, but I think you finally made him change the subject."

"I didn't mean to —"

"Kate, how could you?" Martha didn't expand on what Kate should not have done, but that didn't seem to be necessary.

Now someone asked, Kate didn't see how she could have, either.

"I thought you were the most intelligent woman he'd ever cared about — he loved you more than Alexis or me — don't interrupt, I think it's important to have friends one's own age — but all that's meant is that you've hurt him worse than I've ever seen. I know mothers are allowed not to be partial, but my son was ready to offer you everything in exchange for anything you wanted to give back. And you were too— I don't know."

"Scared?" Kate asked, asking herself as well.

"I'm sorry, Kate, I don't know and right now I don't care much, either."

"I couldn't TAKE 'everything,' and I don't think I have anything to give back-"

"Bullshit," said Martha, very clearly, which somehow underlined to Kate how bad things really were. The actress was as careful as the writer with the power of her words. "That wasn't what he saw in you, and I used to think he might have had a point. I know he can be overwhelming, I know he can be way too much, but you could have dialled all that down if you gave him a chance."

"I like how he is," Kate said weakly.

"And I am the right person for you to tell, of course. You have no idea what he was willing to do for you. When I recall how he's agonized over that information about your mother—"

"I know—"

"No, actually, you don't. Can we say good night, Detective? Good night."

Martha punched in her son's speed-dial number. "Hey, kiddo, you solved it!" Not too much enthusiasm, but he needed to remember what he and his cops had done mattered.

"Hello, Mother. Yeah. It's good."

"I never thought Leanne What'sHerName had much screen presence anyway."

"I believe that was her problem."

"So you're out celebrating?"

"I am sitting in the Old Haunt with Kent and a glass of Scotch that I am reasonably certain is older than you are. Than what your publicist says, for sure."

"Beckett's looking for you."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her you weren't here."

"And what else?"

Damn him, he had always been too smart. "Not much she hadn't figured out for herself."

"You must not have told her anything."

""Oh, Richard, don't be that bitter. She was very upset."

"Well, good, that's two of us. Nicely separated, as she has always preferred. Oh, crap."

"Richard?"

"The door just opened, and 'Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world—' " Martha heard her son say, whether to the phone or to the new character onstage.

"Oh, dear," she said.

"Can I call you back later, Mother?"

"You can come home, sooner. Take care of yourself, dear, don't say anything you'll regret too much in the morning—" she heard the connection break.

Rick folded his cellphone and put it back in his pocket as Beckett walked slowly toward him. Next to him, Kent smoothly refilled his shot glass and made another one like it.

"You'll want to go to your office?" suggested the bartender.

"What, when Ilsa's just arrived—?"

"'I don't want any trouble,' isn't that what I'm supposed to say?"

"Remind me to raise your salary."

There was a lot to say he read that on Kate's face. He was fairly sure there was nothing to say. He didn't want to say any of it. They had lost the time when he wanted to say things. All he had was a small fist of infinite density in his gut and something that might want to be a blinding headache coming in his forehead. Maybe he could do the spontaneous auto-combustion he had always dreamed of -

A/N: I hope this'll be continued, but I'm not too sure right now