My turn :) I hope you took the time to leave Em a review with your thoughts :) I thought it was kind of spectacular.

And now for the plan.


"I have a plan."

Kate turned to see Castle, poised with his chin cupped in one hand and his coffee cup in the other, his fingers drumming thoughtfully against the ceramic side. She lowered the pen she was chewing. His bottom lip found home beneath his front teeth, proving he'd spent way too much time around the woman.

"Care to elaborate?" she asked when he said nothing else. He chewed on his lip a moment more, debating, it seemed, as if he was unsure how to continue.

"It's going to be dangerous," he warns her, falling back on an easy grin with little heart behind it.

"I carry a gun," she reasoned.

"Not this time, you won't. Or your badge," he said, and the way his eyes locked with hers, all traces of humor gone, she knew he was serious. "You are going to be off duty, unarmed and wearing street clothes."

She did nothing but nod. "So, what's the plan?" she asked, reaching for her keys after a shaky moment of silence. A serious Castle was not something she was accustomed to, let alone a Castle taking charge. She was stunned into following along.

More lip chewing, and then:

"No ma'am," He said shortly, stilling her hand when she reached for the car keys sitting on her desk. "Your Crown Vic may not be marked, but where we are going it may as well have a siren and an animated sign." Now he was standing, slipping on his coat, and she followed suit. She dropped her keys, letting them fall to the wooden desk with a subdued ring.

"Okay, Castle," she said in a voice that was wary but steady. She still needed some sort of control in this situation, even if it was just having a say-so. "We will do it your way."

"Thank you."

The cab ride was a long one- Castle sat on one side, Kate on the other, each very aware of each other, the gaping space between them and the loud silence they sat in. He was staring out the window, the glass cool on his forehead, fidgeting with his fingers nervously as Beckett watched him through slanted eyelids. She debated probing further.

Just how dangerous was this plan?

"Castle," she said, inwardly proud at how calm she managed to sound. "Castle!" She called again when she received no response.

"Hmm?" He snapped out of his reverie and turned to her, his best carefree face back in place where it belonged.

"Just what are we getting into here?" Her response was in a resigned sigh, shortly followed by words.

"It's not-"

"Don't bullshit me, Castle. I've never seen you this quiet since…ever, really. What are we about to walk into?" She asked the last part as the cab pulled up to a bar. It was a shabby little place nestled into a dark, forgotten corner of Alphabet City, with half the windows tapped over and only a flickering red 'open' sign indicating the life no doubt inside.

He looked at her the- really looked at her- their eyes locking, and he was struck with the urge to reach out and touch the hand she had rest on the worn seat beside him. "It's…" He seemed to contemplate his words. "I know a guy. We go way back, book research for 'Chasing Storm.'"

"That is way back."

"Yeah. Trevor is…well in his world, there is a sort of…quid pro quo standard."

"Like in a Hannibal sort of way?" she asked, her eyebrows knitting as she processed. "Clarice," she said, in her best Anthony Hopkins impersonation. If the situation weren't so serious, it would have been funny, and he would have admitted it was quite good. "Quid pro quo, Clarice!" she said again, laughing at her own joke, her hand finding his knee in the process. When her silliness earned no laughter from the man, she stilled, her hand still resting on his knee and she used it to keep her balance. "C'mon, Castle," she said, willing herself not to look at her hand. "Lighten up a little."

"Let's just get this over with." And with those words he opened the cab door, slipping out. When he had paid the cabbie's fare and they were on the street, the tired looking pub the destination, he fell into stride beside her, their arms brushing with every swing. He opened the door for her, stepping in behind her and stilling her with a light grasp on her arm. "Kate-" he started. She turned. "Follow my lead?"

"I already told you I would, Castle. Much unlike yourself, I'm a very cooperative listener."

"I wish you would stop making jokes," he muttered.

"Now you know how I feel all the time," she shot back. With that and a moment of quiet, they both relaxed, the spat over and apology written on both their faces. They both read each other so plainly, it needn't be said.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, so quietly she almost missed it. There was a half a beat of silence. Not hesitation, no, but consideration. Did she trust him?

The obvious answer was yes.
She did.

"Yeah, Castle. I trust you." She met his eyes deliberately; he knew she meant it. Wordlessly he turned her so they were facing each other dead on, looking her up and down with a hand on either arm.

For a second she thought he was going to kiss her. She brushed that notion, along with the weird fluttering in her stomach, away as he reached for the zipper of her jacket. It was the black leather one she had become rather attached to, although the brown was still her favorite. "Castle, what-" but he paid no attention, just unzipping her jacket to just above her midriff, pulling apart to better display the tank top she wore underneath. It was light pink with a simple cut neckline, the chain of her necklace visible, but the ring lost beneath the shirt. His hand then reached behind her, pulling at the rubber band she threw her hair up in earlier. Her hair, curly because she hadn't the patience or the drive to straighten it that morning, fell free to a little past her shoulders.

He smiled, pushing a lock behind her ear. She suppressed the shudder that threatened to shake her body at the damn near intimate touch and gritted her teeth. "Castle, what are you-" again he touched her arm, and again she thought he was going to kiss her. He just looked her up and down again, nodding as if satisfied with his work.

"Follow my lead," he reminded her, although it came out more as a question. She nodded, and in the double glass doors they went.

The bar was just as neglected looking on the inside- worn down with years and alcohol and many a brawl. The bartender- a young man with the hint of a beard and sleeves of tattoos- nodded a hello, but other than that the quiet bar didn't recognize their arrival. Beckett followed Castle to the bar. "Let me get a scotch with rocks and-" Castle turned to Kate, debating on what to order "And a coke for the lady." The bartender nodded and made off to make the drinks. "I know how you feel about drinking on the job."

"I thought I wasn't on the job?" she said instead of admitting how touched she was he considered.

"One of us needs to stay level headed," he said as the bartender set down their drinks in scarred glasses. He leaned back on the bar and took in the room, and it was obvious to Kate he was looking for someone. It was also obvious when he found who he was searching for. He made his way to one of the booths along the far wall and adjacent to the ancient looking pool table.

"Trevor," he greeted, and it wasn't until his name was spoken did she see the man sitting at the booth.

He was mid- forties, conservative estimate, with gray sprinkled lightly in his mane of unkempt black hair and a beard hiding his chin. "Richard?" he asked, his voice booming. Loud talker. "Richard Castle?" He was growing louder until it was an exclamation, but none of the bar's other patrons paid notice.

"Yeah."

"And to what do I owe this peachy pleasure?" Kate watched as his surprised exclamation was rapidly turning to one of sarcasm and biting anger.

"I need your help, Trev," Castle said, and Kate's eyed him, unable to help the flutter of happy surprise at how calm he sounded. There was a few beats of heavy, loaded silence as the two seemed to size each other up, and it was Trevor, sensing the man's resolve, who folded.

"Well don't stand there all day, kid. Take a seat." It was when they were seated across from the man that he acknowledged Kate. "Who's the dame?" he asked, his eyes flickering to where she sat. It was then she placed the foreign clip to his voice- Dutch.

"This is my girl, Kate."

"Kate," again, he looked her up and down, this time with a lingering gaze.

Kate found Castle's foot under the table, pressing on it.
Hard.

He winced, anticipating her reaction before it happened.

So that's what that was all about before, she realized.

Castle's arm fell around her shoulders, pulling her into his side in the best possible way, his lips brushing her ear when he spoke, his voice merely breath. To anyone, including the man seated across from them, it just looked like a public display of affection. "Trevor Miles runs a chain of street vendors around here and the Bowery," he explained.

"Hey, hey," Trevor interrupted. "I believe you; you don't have to prove it, God." Castle smiled a little before pressing his lips to her temple, briefly, tying the proverbial bow on the act. Kate's foot lightened on his, almost of its own accord. "So what is this about my help?"

Henry looked into the bottom of his glass- watching the last of the beer swish around and the tiny whirlpool that formed. He sighed before downing the last of it, resuming his gaze to the now-empty glass as if there were a movie playing at the bottom. The sound of the door beckoned his eyes up and he saw them- Kate and the man. She was dressed down and he could see skin- she was showing so much skin, out there for anyone to see. Rage boiled in the pit of his stomach as he watched the man that was with her- watched him slip his arm around her. They sat at a nearby booth, talking to the man he knew as Trevor.

He heard snippets of conversation. Rick, he gathered as the man's name.

He had his hands all over her. His arm circled her shoulders and his lips touched her temple, her foot covering his. He felt a wave of nausea. "This is my girl, Kate," he heard the man named Rick introduce her. Bile rose in his throat. He listened anyways, despite the anger piling up with every spoken word. That's when he heard- the watch.

"I'm looking for a watch," the man named Rick told Trevor. Henry's hand found his pocket, palming the watch he knew rest there, almost reassuringly. So that's who the watch belonged to. Rick.

Henry's eyes returned to the happy couple, her hand on his knee under the table and her foot still half covering his. And then his eyes glossed over, logical reasoning lost somewhere beneath the rage and the jealousy that stormed him. He stared, plots already forming in his head as he watched the only thing standing in his way.


I hope my creeper was creepy enough.
And I hope you review even more.

Next Up- Em is going to blow this chapter out of the water with her wit (Talent may have something to do with it, and words will be involved, for sure.)

Review.
Love.

softer.