Let me paint a picture for you, then I'll have to teach you to see it

Illustrate the remnants of the life I used to live here in Eden
Rolled a lucky pair of dice, ended up in paradise

Landed on a snake's eyes, took a bite and ended up bleeding.


Crowded. It's the only word that comes to Kate's mind as she pulls her suitcase behind her and dodges the seas of men, women and children who fill the terminals and hallways of JFK airport. She's been back for less than five minutes and can already feel the tension weighing down her shoulders, the churn of anxiety coiling low in her stomach as she navigates the long hallway towards the luggage carousel. Sunday afternoon is full of families returning from a trip, couples leaning into each other as they wait for luggage and cabs from a weekend away. No one really seems to be traveling on business but her which is a bit of irony when she considers that this is her hometown and she feels less welcome here than the 17-year-old girl to her right that looks fresh off the bus from the Midwest.

Kate rolls her shoulders and lightly works the muscles of her neck as the track in front of her sputters to life. Priority luggage is a perk that once she'd never had imagined paying for, some needless concept that was built for impatient people. Still, having her large dove-grey and slate blue suitcase roll towards her as the first from the plane makes her smile and she scoops up both it and the matching duffle with ease.

The Manhattan skyline blooms out from the west side of the car as she snakes her way through Queens on the 465. She holds her breath as they approach the East River, and merge onto the Midtown Tunnel. The lack of anything beyond orange cones and yellow light unknots her nerves somewhat, though the feeling rushes right back as the cab curls out onto East 34th Street. She sits with her back presses into the seat, her eyes drinking in every detail that she can process through the blur of tears.

Somehow she manages to keep them from spilling over, bites her lip hard enough to draw a bead of blood that brings the taste of iron to her tongue. The taste focuses her, reminds her that she is here for a job and that all the rest of it will have to wait. Though, deep down, she knows that such a desire is all but impossible because its been four years - 1404 days since she's been in the city.

It's good to be back. So good.


"I'm telling you, he's working in a front! It all makes sense! Vickers is found shot in an alley miles from where he lives or works, three quick taps into the back. He makes his living working as a translator and a guide for the UN, but his roommate couldn't tell us the last time he had given a tour or assisted a diplomat or their guests. Transcribing documents? Translating text and running errands? That's what a guy of his talent was doing. Not likely," Castle says, giving the football that he has been spinning back and forth in his hands a soft toss towards Esposito.

The detective catches the pass easily enough, though he has to lean away from the murder board so that the pass can reach his waiting hands, "Bro, it's the UN, what makes you think even the coffee guy doesn't have a Ph.D?"

"And just what are you implying, Detective?" Rick volleys back, folding his hands over his chest as he stretches back in Ryan's rolling chair.

"Not that you have a doctorate," Espo replies with a roll of eyes, launching the ball in the air so that it sails the length of the empty hallway in time for Kevin to turn the corner and catch it around the sheet of paper in his hands.

"Touchdown!" Sully cries from his desk, lifting his hands in the air like a game referee, "Six points for the Jets," he continues as the three other men groan. The rookie has an affinity for the Mets, Jets, and Knicks. The ultimate glutton for punishment, it would seem to Esposito.

"Ballistics finally came back on the gun," Ryan reads from the paper, cutting his eyes up just long enough to give an under-handed toss to Sully and lightly kick the back of his chair so that Castle will vacate the premises, "It's a .45 Glock, registered to a farmer named George Winters in Virginia. I called him this morning and he says that the handgun, and a couple of hunting rifles were lifted from his truck last winter when he and his two sons ate at a diner in Newburgh - they were driving back from a hunting trip in Vermont, stopped to eat and came back to find everything stolen. Local PD never had any leads, told him they didn't have much hope of recovering the weapons."

Ryan looks sorry that the gun seems to be a dead end as he takes his seat at his desk, meeting Castle's eyes as Esposito studies the board and looks for the connection that somehow they've all missed. This case is practically a black hole, stacks of information that fills in gaps but shows no connection or correlation. It all seems completely random beyond the fact it feels like the exact opposite.

"What are we missing?" Espo hisses, hands flaring out to rest on his waist while he glares at the board like that will provide him for answers. He turns with a sigh after a beat, catching the ball as Sully let's it fly and immediately flips the pigskin back to Castle.

The writer never catches it, the ball taking three bounces on the scuffed hardwood before flipping end over end and coming to a rest at a pair of feet encased in black stiletto boots. He's not quite sure if his imagination is getting the better of him, or if the bullpen actually freezes and sucks in a breath, but there is suddenly an absence of sound. Nothing but a ringing in his ears as his continued anger wars with the shock and relief of seeing her again.

She's even more attractive than he remembers, those ridiculous and familiar shoes paired with a black suit that looks custom made to fit her body. Her white button down is utilitarian, screams Federal Agent, while her red coat compliments the golden tones of the long tumbling curls of her hair, the bronze flecks that stand out in her green eyes as she finishes unwinding the purple and red scarf from her neck and drops both it and the coat on the chair that rests next to her desk.

Former desk, he reminds himself, his brow furrowing as the anger burns out all other emotions and he turns on his heel to walk towards the break room before Beckett can even open her mouth to say a word.


It's like being doused in ice water as Castle retreats from the bullpen to slam the door of the break room. All of her plans to walk in and play it calmly, to explain to Ryan and Espo her reasons for returning and the need for their help on the case, all of it evaporated the second she saw Castle. Not because she wasn't angry, four years had done little to relive that particular emotion, but the look on his face. It had stolen her breath and every thought and good intention in her head.

For that first moment, he had looked at her like he used too. That look that had led her to break up with Tom and put her heart on the line.

Her eyes roll on cue as the door slams against the frame, and Kate barely bites back the nasty retort that curls on her tongue about spoiled children. Instead she tamps it down, shaking out her hair to free it from the collar of her blazer and stepping forward to hug both Ryan and Espo in turn. Even that contact feels stilted and awkward, the result of four years spent communicating largely through texts and emails.

She hadn't made it back for Kevin's wedding. Hadn't even met his wife.

"Beckett, what brings you here?" the man asks, already reaching in his pocket to pull out his phone. For a moment she thinks that he is calling Lanie, and Kate opens her mouth to say that she already knows, that she texted her from the cab. Suddenly the phone screen is in her face and there's a photo of an adorable baby in a pink fuzzy hat and white onesie with a pink gingham elephant.

She gasps purely on instinct, her mouth still open as she lifts her eyes from the screen to Kevin and gives him a full smile which the new father matches.

"Meet Sarah Grace," he says with a puff of his chest, and Kate suddenly realizes that the baby is wearing one of the presents she bought once she heard the news.

That gesture feels a bit like forgiveness from Ryan, she thinks as she gathers him in for another hug. This one far less awkward and more of a silent apology because she is sorry for not making more of an effort for the two men who are her brothers in every way but blood. Somehow she'll make it up to both of them.


Rick crumples onto the couch in a daze, stares blindly at a burned spot on the floor while his whole universe tries to set back into place. He can feel the surge of adrenaline brought on by the shock humming in his blood, the steady tap-tap of his feet and they move to try and release some of that built up energy as his hands clench against his knees so hard that the knuckles blanche a creamy white.

He stays in that position for a long time, only shifting back against the cushions as his lower back muscles begin to seize up. He also realizes that he is unconsciously grinding his teeth together, a habit born from years of keeping his thoughts trapped inside his head. He releases the tension reluctantly, afraid that he will shoot up off the sofa and lay into Kate Beckett in the middle of a bullpen where she is now debriefing the entire floor and the four members of her team that arrived about an hour after she did.

Sully had invited him to join the fray, the rookie's polite suggestion silenced at the glare Rick had shot over his right shoulder. No one else had come near the break room since that interaction, though it was as likely that Beckett was keeping them busy as anyone unwilling to disturb him.

Still, the writer in him enjoyed the imagery of a bunch of cops avoiding a room because of the righteous swell of anger that issued from underneath the door.

If she was smart, Beckett would also keep her distance. Long enough for his control to roll back in place, long enough for Rick to gather his things and make an exit because he couldn't stay here. Not with the infuriating, maddening and breathtaking creature again inhabiting the walls.

If he stayed, he'd go crazy. If he stayed, she'd break him completely.

If he stayed, he'd have to admit that even four years of distance, anger and completely hating her hadn't added up. Because, damn it to hell, he still cared.

He cares a lot.


Song: 'Eden' by Sara Bareilles from 'The Blessed Unrest'