It's alive!

I am so ashamed. It took me so long to post another chapter here, and really, I have no good reason for it. Except that WIPs and I do not get along, apparently. Anywho, I hope to have another chapter on here, if not soon, then not too long. And... I'll stop babbling now. Enjoy!


The day that they started working to get Castle back to the precinct had been fairly unproductive. Castle was still a little weird with his pain medication, and Beckett was a little too wound up to think clearly. So instead of work their new, self-assigned case, Castle suggested that she stay for dinner and maybe a movie. She had reluctantly agreed, and before she knew it the entire Castle family was crowded around a box of pizza and watching The Rear Window, and she was right there in the middle of it.

Work the following day had been shockingly dull, given the new spin that had been forcefully placed on it. Her new partner, Randall Sykes, was not a new detective. His old partner had retired three weeks ago, and he had been on desk assignment until another partnership opened up. He wore a grey suit, a grey tie, grey socks, and had grey hair—not an inch of color could be found on his frame. He was neither messy nor spectacularly organized, he took his coffee black, and he didn't wear a wedding ring. Not that Beckett was interested. In fact, she would go so far as to say that she really, really wasn't.

When it became apparent about halfway through the day that Montgomery wasn't going to be giving them a case—probably hoping to encourage them to get to know each other in some way—Beckett took it upon herself to look at any case reports that involved Castle, attempting to find any evidence that he may have had any enemies.

The file she found consisted of a long list of colorful but unimportant misdemeanors. She had started to think that the only encounters he'd had with the law had been on the wrong side of it until she found a very interesting restraining order. Not against Castle, but against a Marianne Christie, who had been accused of stalking and was now forced to maintain a significant distance between herself and the infamous Richard Castle at all times. At 5 o'clock she scribbled the name on a piece of paper and grabbed her coat, walking past Syke's desk and handing it to Esposito.

While waiting for the elevator reach the first floor, she pulled out her phone, using the speed dial that she hadn't told Castle she had to reach him quickly. "Hey Castle, I'm heading out of the precinct. Want me to grab something for dinner?"

"Chinese?" She could practically see the puppy dog eyes that would be accompanying the slight whine in his voice.

"You know, you don't have to beg, Castle. I didn't ask what you wanted just so I could pop your balloon."

His voice lowered to a whisper. "That wasn't for you, it was for my mother. She's been on a cooking spree and for some reason she is convinced that trending dietary habits are the way to go. It also means an overabundance of tofu."

"Ah. I'll get extra then, to make sure that there are leftovers."

"Detective Beckett: the best partner a writer could have."

She muffled her laugh and pressed the "end" button, climbing into her car to make her way first to Panda Express and then to Castle's apartment.

"So," Kate started, pausing to wrestle a bundle of noodles into a firm grip with her chop sticks, "I have a question for you."

"Shoot." Castle grimaced at his own choice of words, moving rapidly to amend them. "Which is to say, 'continue,' 'have at it,' or, my personal favorite, 'yes, please, ask.'"

"Who is Marianne Christie?" Kate typed the name in on the computer that was hooked up to Castle's smart board, slightly enamored with the technology despite her conviction that the old fashioned whiteboard was the way to go.

Castle's chopsticks fell out of his hand and onto the floor, and the food that was in his mouth almost projected forward with the cough that shook his frame. "Marianne Christie?"

Kate watched him, now more curious than focused on the case. "Yeah. You have a restraining order against her."

"I didn't realize that this case would entail scrutiny of my own history." Castle mumbled somewhat grumpily as he leaned forward slowly to reach for his eating utensils.

She blinked, glaring at him until he noticed her gaze. "You do realize that you broke down that wall when you started looking into my mother's murder, right?"

"Yeah, but… What do you want to know?" He gave up his attempts to regain the chopsticks and leaned back on the couch.

"Is it possible she could be involved in your case?" Kate asked. Castle shot her woeful glances, and finally she picked up his abandoned chopsticks, tossed them in the garbage, and handed him the fork that was on a lonely plate of tofu.

"I was using those!"

"They were dirty, and forks are easier anyways."

"But now all the authenticity of the food has been sucked from the room!" His argument was weak, not that normally they had a strong backbone of logic to them. But it lacked conviction. Which meant he was stalling.

"Castle… tell me about Marianne Christie. Please."

"It's a long story…"

"You're the writer."