AN: And we're entering the realm of serious suspension of disbelief. The idea that Beckett would be allowed to work this case is ridiculous, I know, but it does seem that that's how the show is going to run it. Also, I know that things like DNA and whatnot take weeks not hours but just go with me, okay? Thanks.

HUGE HUGE thanks to everyone that's commented and followed. The response to this has been nothing short of amazing for me.


The ride to the scene is quiet, the tension a silent but oppressive third party. It fills in the empty spaces of her car, presses her down against the seat. She fights to keep her body upright, to ward off the desire to curl in on herself and hide. Hide from her doubts, her fears, the truth she's not certain she's ready to face. She can feel Esposito casting sidelong glances at her every couple of blocks, his jaw clenching with whatever it is he's holding back. Beckett tightens her hands around the steering wheel, watches as her knuckles blanch, the washed out skin a visible reminder of how empty she feels.

Barricades still mark off the crime scene, a smattering of uniforms milling about on the sidewalk. They all jump to some approximation of attention when they see her cruiser pull up, the jokes and chatter dying immediately. Beckett watches them, pulling in a deep breath, trying to prepare herself for this. She's not leaving here without something she can use to clear him. She can't go back to the station empty handed. Not while he's sitting in a cell in the basement, betrayed and angry and, she thinks, more than a little heartbroken. At least they have matching wounds.

She's reaching out for the handle on the door when Esposito finally speaks.

"You don't have to feel guilty about this."

A sigh escapes without her permission and she turns to look at him, keeps her face as blank as possible. "What?"

"You're a cop. You're doing your job and following the evidence. He can't be mad at you for that, Beckett."

She just stares at him for a moment, wonders if he actually believes that or is just trying to make her feel better. Esposito stares back and shifts in his seat, the heavy leather of his holster catching on the bulky console. She can see the thoughts clicking behind his eyes, know he's trying to work himself up to say something he's not sure he should. She breaks their staring contest and pops open the door, climbs out into the crisp October morning.

The air is light and sweet and it reminds her of all the reasons she loves fall, the colors and the warm scents and jackets and boots. Her mind replays a memory from three days ago, waking up on a cool morning wrapped up with Castle, listening to him whine about how cold her apartment is while he pressed the tip of his nose into the crook of her neck. Her chest aches as the sound of his voice fills her ears, the phantom weight of his arms twining around her middle. She shoves the image away, pushes it back behind the wall. She can't go there right now. She can't think about all the nights he's spent in her bed.

And all the nights he hasn't.

Esposito catches up with her in the entryway, his boots thudding heavily on the yellowing linoleum. They start up the stairs in silence, Beckett in the lead. The victim's apartment is on the fourth floor and she finds herself grateful for the climb, for the time to breathe and center herself. She cannot be Kate right now. She cannot keep thinking about her boyfriend being locked in a cell at the Twelfth. He's a suspect. Suspect. Not the man she loves.

"I know you don't want to think about this," Esposito starts, his low voice startling her. Beckett misses a step and trips, her hand landing on the grimy wall for balance. Esposito reaches out to help but drops his hand quickly when she glares at him.

"Think about what?"

"That there's a possibility Castle could be guilty."

She stares at him for a moment before turning and starting back up the stairs. He's right. She doesn't want to think about that. Because thinking about that sends shivers of guilt and shame curling down her spine. She's certain he didn't kill Michelle Brighton. She can't absolve him of anything else, not yet, but she does know that much. Richard Castle is a lot of things but cold blooded murder isn't one of them.

"I mean, how well do we really know the guy? He plots murders for a living, Beckett. The ideas are obviously there." Beckett ignores him and keeps climbing, her heels clicking loudly on the concrete steps. "Maybe he finally just came up with one he couldn't pass up."

She turns to face him on the landing of the fourth floor, tries to keep her emotions in check as she responds. "Castle isn't capable of murder. You know that."

"Everyone is capable of murder under the right set of circumstances. You know that."

"Even if that's true, he didn't do this."

"Look, I know what it is to be betrayed by a partner. I know you don't want to believe it - "

"I don't believe it because it's not true. And I'm going to prove that." She arches a brow at Esposito. "You going to help or hinder?"

She spins away from him and pushes into the apartment, pulling a pair of blue gloves out of her pocket. Castle always gets a kick out of her having multiple pairs of gloves in her car, her coats, her pants pockets. He likes to fish them out and play with them, making misshapen balloon animals and obscene hand gestures to entertain himself. Shaking her head slightly, Beckett pushes away the smile and snaps on her gloves, eyes immediately scanning over the apartment.

Yellow markers dot the floor randomly and a fine coat of fingerprint powder sticks to most of the flat surfaces. Picking her way across the living room, Beckett runs through the scene in her head, imposes images of the victim over the now empty room. She remembers Castle's soft gasp when he'd seen her face, had recognized her as someone he knew. She'd shot him a silent question that he'd waved off, his eyes studiously avoiding the body on the gurney. It was odd, of course, but she hadn't really thought anything of it at the time. Of course, now she can't think of anything else. Was that gasp simply the result of him recognizing the victim as a friend and colleague or something more?

Her eyes slip over toward the bedroom as Esposito heads into the kitchen, flashlight in hand. Taking a deep breath, Beckett steps across the hall. The bed is disheveled, sheets and comforter bunched across the foot, pillows scattered about. She knows some of this is the result of the CSU team performing their sweep but -

The images come unbidden. She sees him in that bed with the victim, back flexing as he holds himself over her, hips pitching and rolling. Ghostly echoes of his moans fill her mind and she bites back a weak sob, her hands clenched tightly against her thighs. Closing her eyes, she tries to dislodge the violently vibrant pictures with a shake of her head. She has to concentrate on clearing him right now. The rest can come later.

"Yo, Beckett."

She spins herself out of the bedroom with a relieved sigh and walks into the kitchen, finds Esposito standing in the middle of the room with a uniform waiting behind him.

"Officer Branch found this stuck in the trash chute." He holds up a clear evidence bag containing a tan leather glove, the fingers stained rust. "Looks like blood to me."

"Yeah," she breathes, her eyes flicking up to meet his. There's a softness there that makes her heart stutter and skip. He sees it too. "There's no way that glove is big enough to fit Castle." Beckett turns her attention to the eager looking uniform. "No sign of the other one?"

"No, ma'am," Branch replies, her voice soft and lilting. "We've searched the chute, the furnace room and the dumpsters. That's all we've found."

"Thank you, Officer," Beckett says. "Good work."

"Thanks, Detective Beckett." The young woman's eyes sparkle with satisfaction. "Should we keep canvassing?"

"Yeah. Check in with Johnson and his team and see if they need help with the tenant interviews."

Branch nods and leaves, a little bounce in her step. Turning back to Esposito, Beckett reaches out and fingers the evidence bag, hope welling up inside her chest.

"Don't jump to conclusions," Esposito warns in a gentle tone. "We have to get it to the lab. He's not clear yet."

No. But he will be. She's certain of it.


Her voicemail is overflowing when she gets to the precinct the next morning and she has about thirty emails to check and return but all she can do it alternate between staring at the board and her phone, willing it to ring. The techs bumped her to the front of the line and she knows these things take time but her patience has been worn thin for forty-eight hours and she just needs answers already.

She didn't go see him after taking the glove to the lab. She told herself that as the investigator of record on the case against him she couldn't, but laying in her bed, alone and cold, she'd admitted the truth. She was scared. She was scared to face him, to see the betrayal and hurt in his eyes. Scared that her doubts and fears had managed to once again wreck them. They've only been in this thing, actually together, for less than six months, but they've been friends and partners for more than four years. She should have had more faith in him, evidence or not. He's not a murderer and she's not certain she'll ever be able to forgive herself for actually giving merit to the idea.

The rest, though, she can't dismiss as easily. She hates herself for it but the thought of him being with other women has been something that has worried her from the start. Images of ex-wives, manipulative actresses, flight attendants and bikini clad reporters assault her in her weaker moments. She knows he loves her, though he hasn't said it since that day last May, standing in her living room with tears in his eyes as he pleaded with her to, for once, choose him. But love doesn't guarantee fidelity and six months together doesn't erase decade's worth of habits. He waited for her for but -

"Have you seen Ryan?"

Esposito's voice pulls her out of her head and she blinks, the murder board swimming back into focus. His picture is in the middle and she wants to rip it down, pretend that it was never there at all.

"Not since yesterday morning, actually." She frowns, can feel her eyebrows gathering in the middle of her forehead. "You've called him?"

"Yeah. Just keep getting voicemail. Maybe I should call -"

The ringing of her phone cuts him off. She stares at the little yellow light as it flashes, her hand hovering inches above her thigh. She tells herself to just answer it, to reach out and pick up the damned receiver but her arm remains motionless, her joints stiff and unbending. Esposito swoops in and picks it up, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder as he writes down whatever information is being fed to him.

"You're sure?"

There's a pause and Beckett stares at the murder board again, her eyes locked on his picture. It's the picture from his drivers' license; he's wearing a blue button down and a smile, his face younger and less lined. He looks handsome and rakish and all she wants is to go to him, run her hands over the wrinkles and lines the intervening years have etched into his skin, kiss him until he knows how sorry she is.

"Okay. Thanks, Jerry."

Esposito drops the phone back into its cradle, the black plastic clattering loudly. Beckett tries to read him, tries to find the answers in the thin line of his mouth and the firm set of his brow.

"Well?"

"The blood is a match for the vic's. They were able to get DNA from sweat they pulled from the lining inside the gloves." He meets her eye. "It's not Castle's."

Her shoulders shake as the relief pours through her and she sucks in a deep breath, tries to calm her thundering heart.

"There's still other evidence against him, Beckett," Esposito continues quietly. "This helps but it doesn't clear him completely."

"That may not but this does." Beckett looks up to see a thoroughly unkempt Ryan standing in front of her desk. He's wearing the same clothes as the day before, tie hanging out of one pocket, face covered in stubble. He looks haggard but his eyes are shining as he holds up his notebook, triumph radiating out through his broad smile. "This will definitely clear him."