Ryan woke up, rolled into Jenny. She was wrapped around him, but despite the alarm was still fast asleep. As he reached out to switch it off, he smiled. She could sleep through a thunderstorm, and a ringing bell was nothing. Still, give it another half an hour and she'd wake up on her own, her internal clock more accurate than anything mechanical. He buried his nose in her hair for a moment, breathing deeply of her warm scent. Cinnamon and vanilla. He'd laughed with Esposito when they first saw Castle sniffing Beckett, but with Jenny he knew why. It might only be pheromones, but there was something about her perfume ...

Thinking of Esposito made him remember the conversation on the roof, when his partner had finally come clean.

The sun had been in his eyes, but he'd ignored it. All his concentration had been on Esposito, and the amount of anger that had welled up inside him.

"You knew?"

"Bro, it wasn't -"

"No, you don't get to say that to me." He turned away, starting to pace, his hands in fists on his hips. "You knew, all this time, and you didn't tell me."

"I couldn't. Orders."

Ryan span on his heel. "Orders? From who?"

"Jordan Shaw."

"Jor …" He couldn't even get the name out. "She's involved in this?"

"She's the reason Beckett's still alive."

Alive. Beckett was still alive. He heard the words but somehow couldn't get his brain around it. They'd carried her coffin … "Does Castle know?"

Esposito looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, bro. He does."

"So I'm the last." The anger flared into a conflagration. "The last to know. Again."

"Since when were you the last to know anything?"

"I think this is a pretty big example, don't you?" Ryan began to pace again.

"Dude, Castle only knows because he figured it out. I have no idea how, but I think maybe Maggie Maguire had something to do with it."

Ryan threw his hands into the air expressively. "Somebody else who knew before me!"

"They worked it out together. Made me tell them."

"What, did they use the thumbscrews?"

"I wanted to tell you. I told Jordan it wasn't a good idea not to."

"Thanks. That makes me feel a whole lot better," Ryan said witheringly.

Esposito sighed and walked to the parapet , ignoring the dirt and grime of a thousand New York City days and nights to sit down. "Bro, she's alive. Isn't that the main thing?"

Ryan stopped, turned and stared at him. "Of course it is! But you should have told me right from the beginning!"

"Yeah. You're right. And I'm sorry."

"Damn right I'm right." He glared at his partner, sitting on the low wall, hands clasped lightly in his lap, showing an inch of dark-skinned leg above his sock where his pants leg had ridden up … and felt his anger drain away. Not entirely - there was still an ember glowing in the pit of his stomach, but he knew that was essential. Nurture it, keep it fed, and it would sustain him through the dark hours when it seemed like they'd never catch the bad guy. He sighed. "Does Lanie know?"

"No."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "She is going to kill you when she finds out."

"I know. At least she can do the autopsy on my lifeless corpse."

"If they ever find the pieces."

"Yeah."

Ryan allowed his shoulders to relax, and joined Esposito on the parapet. "Can I tell Jenny?"

"Probably not a good idea."

"You don't want to be the only body on a slab when this is over?"

"Hey, we're partners."

He sat quietly for a moment or two, then asked, "Why you? How come you were the one who got involved and not me?"

"I was there, bro. At the hospital."

"So was I."

"But not when Jordan came looking. You'd gone to the bathroom."

"So if I hadn't had to go take a leak …"

"We wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Or maybe I'd be the one telling you," Ryan pointed out.

"Could be."

There was silence for maybe five seconds. "Now what?"

"We catch the bastard who did this."

"You think we can?"

Esposito stood up, brushing at his pants. "We're Beckett's Boys, didn't you know?"

"Beckett's Boys?"

"That's what they call us."

Ryan got to his feet. "Beckett's Boys." He rolled it around his mouth, then grimaced. "That's terrible."

"Lanie thinks it's cute."

"It makes us sound about five years old. Now, Beckett's Men … that would be more like it."

"There's no alliteration."

"No what?"

"Alliteration."

Ryan whistled. "Man, you have been spending way too much time with Castle."

"Just for that you're going to buy the first three rounds tonight."

"And you're buying the rest. I haven't forgiven you yet."

"I'll toss you for it," Esposito said, heading back towards the roof door.

"Hey, you owe me!"

"Sorry, bro, can't hear you."

"Esposito …"

They'd bickered all the way back down to the bull pen, but that evening they'd gone to The Old Haunt, and by the end of the night had been more or less equal in who bought what.

"Kevin?"

He looked down to see Jenny gazing blearily at him from her position against his chest. "Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No." She yawned. "Yes," she amended, but smiled. "Is it time to get up?"

"Pretty much." He pushed a strand of her blonde hair out of her mouth, then lifted her chin so he could kiss her.

"Whoa," she said, moving her head away. "Morning breath."

"Who, you or me?"

"Both of us."

"Then it doesn't matter, does it?" He pulled her back, pressing his lips firmly onto hers. He felt her smile.

"What's this in aid of?" she asked when he let her up for air.

"I don't know. Can't a fiancé kiss his woman awake?"

"His woman?" She poked him in the chest. "And you've not exactly felt like it, not since …" She couldn't finish.

"Maybe I feel more … hopeful." He tightened his arms. "And any red-blooded Irishman who wakes up with a beautiful woman by his side and doesn't take advantage should be thrown into the Hudson."

"You think I'm beautiful?" she asked, all sleepiness gone from her eyes.

"Don't fish," he said, rolling her over so he had better access.

Esposito woke up, rolled into Lanie. He was spooned against her back, and she muttered something about it being way too early before settling her face into the pillow once more, tugging the sheet against her chest.

He reached across to the alarm, silencing it, but the ringing still seemed to be echoing through his head. Maybe he was developing tinnitus or something. Or perhaps it was all the alcohol last night.

Damn, but that Ryan could drink. Something about his Gaelic heritage, maybe, but he seemed to soak it up like a sponge.

Not that it had got them very far, at least with their planning. Pretty much all they'd decided was to go through the files again at Beckett's apartment, see if there was something they'd missed the first, second or fortieth time around. Still, at least they'd got past the anger.

He had to smile. It hadn't quite happened like he'd said, but in this case it was probably better to spare Ryan's feelings than be brutally honest. Jordan Shaw had waited until Esposito was alone at the hospital before approaching him.

"Ryan's too emotional," she'd explained. "If he goes from being overwrought to relieved in the space of a few hours, someone will notice."

"He's a good cop."

"I know. But right now I need them to believe he's grieving."

"Them? Do you know who they are?"

"No." Jordan looked annoyed with herself. "I had men placed around the cemetery, but not one of them saw anything."

"So why me?"

"I need eyes and ears in the precinct."

Esposito shook his head. "Why aren't you in there, with your war room and all the manpower you can throw at this thing?"

"Because at the moment there's no firm cause."

"Someone tried to kill Beckett. Did kill the captain."

"Montgomery was killed by Lockwood, who died at the same time. Some people might call that justice, and decide that was enough."

"What about Beckett?"

"There's no concrete evidence that connects the two. Kate's attempted murder might just be opportunistic - someone taking advantage of the situation."

"With all the cops around?"

Jordan smiled tightly. "Someone did. We know they're connected, but I've no solid proof, so I can't come in, all guns blazing. About the most I can do is have a watching brief, offer my … advisory capacity thing."

"So what do we do?"

"Our jobs. Someone knows something, and if we listen hard enough, we'll hear it."

"And Beckett?"

"We'll take her to a hotel, stash her someplace safe until this is over."

He barked a laugh. "Good luck with making her stay out of things."

He'd been right, of course. Despite the gunshot wound, Beckett had railed against the confinement, going over and over things with him when Jordan and Josh were out of the room, until his brain was in danger of exploding.

"Dollar for them."

He lifted his head in surprise to look over Lanie's shoulder. Her eyes were still closed but she was smiling slightly. "Did I wake you?"

"Yes. But I've got a body on the slab to work on this morning, so I have to get up anyway." She rolled over so she was lying on her back. "Morning."

"Morning." He smiled. "And isn't it 'a penny for your thoughts'?"

"Inflation," she said succinctly. "So come on, 'fess up. What's got you lying all pensive at this time of the morning?"

"Nothing."

"You look like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders."

"Just … things."

"Becketty things?" she suggested, a shadow crossing her eyes.

He hated seeing her like that, but knew that, in this case, he had to be strong. Even more so than Ryan, she wore her emotions on her face. "We'll get him, Lanie," he said softly. "I promise."

"I know."

He settled his head on his hand, resting on his elbow, and allowed his gaze to run up and down her body. "You're so beautiful."

"You do know sex isn't the answer to everything, don't you?" she asked, her mood lightening again.

"I don't know. Is it multiple choice?" He pressed against her naked thigh.

"Why, Detective Esposito. Are you trying to seduce me?"

"Damn, I hope so," he said fervently as he leaned forward to capture her mouth.

Kate woke up, on her back, her mouth wide open, throat dry. She had the sneaking suspicion she'd been snoring, but luckily there was nobody in bed with her to hear.

There was no sound from the rest of the cabin, so Castle probably wasn't up yet. Rick, she told herself. Not Castle. Rick. It wasn't that she didn't think of him by his first name, but she knew it was something of a defence mechanism. She'd heard what he said the night before, about not lying, and she knew exactly what he meant. "I love you," he'd said. And she was angry as hell at him for saying it.

How dare he? At that moment, when she thought each agonising breath was going to be her last, when she couldn't say 'I love you' back ... how dare he have the last word?

She wasn't even sure of how she felt, not after everything that had happened. In LA she would have given in, but Fate decided otherwise, and now all this had made her question herself once again. He was her friend, her partner, and against all the odds (and his tendency to be incredibly annoying) she trusted him with her life.

But this ... she wasn't sure she could afford to let herself be sidetracked. Let alone for him to say it first.

Pushing back the quilt, she managed to roll herself into a sitting position on the bed, her feet on the floor, without too much pain. Well, yes, it hurt, and she was going to take another couple of Josh's little pink pills as soon as she could get the energy to find the bathroom and a glass and run some water. She looked around, but the action twisted something, and she gasped. Okay. Forget the water.

Reaching into her pocket she found the container, managing to get the lid off without too much effort and tossing the last two pills into her mouth. She swallowed, gagging slightly at the bitter taste, but got them down. Luckily Josh had supplied her with enough to last another two weeks, and these were safely stashed in that hideous suitcase, which was wherever Castle had left it.

Castle. Damn him. And Josh. In fact, damn them both. Maybe she should be on her own again, reliant on nobody for her emotional support. She'd done fine before. She didn't need a man in her life. In fact, she could get a cat. Maybe two. Or three, for that matter. End up the crazy old cat lady that parents warned their kids about.

She smiled. Right.

The tablets were going to take a little while to work, but the pain had eased considerably as she sat quietly, so she took the opportunity to study her surroundings, pretty much as a hunter would study the habitat of his prey. Almost as big as she seemed to recall the living room downstairs, it was painted white, the original logs plastered over.

Large windows filled two opposite walls, one over the bed, with pale cream net curtains to the floor that she could imagine billowing in any breeze. A fireplace centred a third wall, where at least thirty pictures, mostly of Rick and his ladies, covered almost all the spare space around.

The last wall seemed taken up with two doors – one of which appeared to lead into the bathroom (and that was becoming something of an issue) – and the other she recalled coming in by the previous night, with what was probably a walk-in wardrobe with slatted doors in the corner over the stairs.

Apart from the king size bed the furniture consisted of an old-fashioned clothes press by the bathroom (more urgent now), two very comfy-looking armchairs flanking the fireplace, and nothing else, which surprised her more than anything.

Okay. Now it was more than urgent, and she managed to stand and walk to the bathroom, finding it elegantly tiled in shades of green, with an ancient rolltop bath in pride of place. And a toilet.

Five minutes later, she was far more relaxed, and didn't feel at all guilty having spent an informative amount of that time going through Castle's medicine cabinet. He was right – he did practice safe sex, although the box of condoms was unopened, and only just in date. Tylenol, Alka Seltzer, an astringent stick in case he cut himself shaving ... it seemed like he was human after all.

Smiling slightly she walked back into the bedroom, and was struck once again by the realisation that this wasn't what she expected in Castle's little hideaway. Somehow she had imagined a lot more browns, beaten metals, leather trims perhaps, something more in keeping with his apartment, but this had a woman's touch, and she felt a sliver of jealousy coil in her belly.

Or maybe it was hunger, considering the loud rumble that emanated, reminding her she hadn't eaten since the eggs and toast the day before, and she'd left half of that.

Ignoring the fact that she was still wearing the same clothes, she padded outside and negotiated the stairs with care, taking greater note of the living room as she descended. As she remembered, down here the walls were the actual logs, the in-between sealed with mortar and painted white, although in most places even this wasn't visible.

What she'd taken for tapestries were large fabric collages, natural colours in an almost abstract design, but fitting in perfectly with the rest of the room. Pictures, prints, photos and original works of art filled the gaps, an eclectic and odd mixture of city and countryside, animal and mineral, until she half-closed her eyes and realised the placement wasn't random, but planned to form a picture of their own, a lot like one of those photos made up of a thousand others, only this was a pastoral scene of rolling grasslands and tall trees. Yet again she doubted Castle had the patience to plan and carry out such a project.

Now down on the polished hardwood floor, dotted here and there with rag rugs and an intimate dining table with four chairs suggesting the occasional dinner party, a thin plasma TV graced one corner, while nic-nac shelves filled the others.

A lot of the rest of the room was taken up with three large sofas clustered around another fireplace, this one much larger and grander than the one upstairs, and on one of them, stretched out with his head back on one of the cushions, was Richard Castle, best-selling author and darling of the celebrity circuit, snoring gently.

She gazed down at him, and shook her head. He looked younger than usual, the lines of his life smoothed out by sleep, especially with his hair fallen over his forehead like that. Maybe she should tell him she actually preferred it like this, and not moussed into submission. Admittedly, he always looked tidy, but sometimes she just wanted to run her fingers through it to muss it up a little.

She sighed. She might have known he'd be attractive even in sleep, whilst she was almost positive she drooled.

Okay, not going there. She nudged the sofa arm. "Castle." He snorted slightly. "Castle." Still nothing. "Rick."

His eyes opened. "Oh. Hey."

She wanted to cross her arms, but knew it might hurt, so merely contented herself with raising one eyebrow and asking, "Did you sleep here all night?"

"You had the bed."

"What?"

"You had the bed." He sat up, rubbing his face with both hands.

"The bed."

"That's what I said."

"There's only one bed in this place?"

"I don't mind." He smiled and nodded to a pile of blankets and pillows sitting unused on one of the other sofas. "I was going to make it up, but I couldn't be bothered. In the end I just fell asleep." He stood up and stretched, then a spasm ripped through his back, and he yelped in pain before he could stop himself.

"Castle?"

"It's ... nothing." He pressed his fingers into his spine.

"Okay," she said, sighing loudly. "Lie down."

"What?"

"On the floor. On your face."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it."

He gazed at her until she gestured again, before lowering himself, as gently as he could, onto the rug. "What are you going to do?"

"Just relax."

"I hate it when people say that. I end up with tattoos."

"Oh? Where?"

"Never you ... ow!"

She pressed on the centre of his spine with her bare foot, her toes digging in.

"Don't be a baby. I'm hardly putting any pressure on."

"You'll break my back!"

"No I won't. I know what I'm doing." She kneaded the muscles. "My roommate when I spent that semester in Moscow used to do this for extra rubles. She showed me how."

"Really?" R-rated images played across Rick's brain, interspersed with flashes of white pain as she found the spot that really, really hurt.

"At least I'm not walking on you. That's what she used to do."

"What did she used to wear?"

"Stilettos." Kate dug her toes in harder, making him yell as something clicked. "There." She moved back.

Rick lay on the floor, afraid to move. "You're done?"

"Yes. Get up."

"I'm not paralysed?"

"Get up."

Gingerly at first, then with much more of a spring when he realised it didn't hurt, Rick stood up. "Wow," he said, rolling his hips and bending forwards. "That's amazing." He grinned. "Nikki Heat is so going to be able to do that."

She watched his contortions and said, "You know how you killed off Derrick Storm?"

"Yes?"

"Well, Jameson Rook could go the same way if you keep doing that."

He laughed. "Why don't you go outside while I make breakfast?"

"Pancakes?"

He grinned, remembering another time he'd cooked for her before a dead body literally fell at his feet. "Oh, I think I can do better than that."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "When did you go shopping?"

"I didn't." He looked shamefaced, but grinned wider. "I called the local store from Dobbs Ferry, got them to drop some stuff off yesterday afternoon."

"I thought this was supposed to be under the radar?" Her glare said much more than her words.

"It's all right," he assured her. "I used the phone at the Pancake House. Sharon was very helpful."

"Sharon?"

If his smile got any wider his head would probably have split in two, so he just turned nonchalantly on his heel and headed towards the small kitchen.

She stared after him, shaking her head, before wandering outside.

He'd barely got the frying pan out of the cupboard when he heard her voice.

"Oh my god."

Dropping it with a clang on the counter he ran to help. "What? What is it?"

She was standing just beyond the doorway, staring at the view. "It's ... beautiful."

He looked himself, seeing it afresh through her eyes. And it was stunning.

The road they'd driven up snaked back into the trees which crowded the cabin on three sides, but in front a gravelled area the width of the cabin and maybe thirty feet long led down to the edge of a lake spread out before them. The shoreline spread out and curved away, in some places fringed with tiny beaches, others with huge erratic boulders, but mostly more trees. From this angle it was impossible to tell if it was enclosed, but the far edge, perhaps a couple of miles away, framed yet more trees, with the absolute perfection of mountains thrusting up behind, still capped with white.

"Quarter Lake," Rick said.

"Is it all yours?"

"Not all of it," he conceded. "But a fair chunk of the shoreline." He shrugged. "I've got a standing arrangement with a local realtor to try and buy up any plots that come on the market."

"Are you planning to develop it?"

At her appalled look, he squirmed a little. "I was. But not anymore," he added quickly. "Alexis is of Maggie's mind – she wants to save the planet."

"Sometimes Alexis sounds more like Maggie's daughter than Meredith's."

"Oh, I was there when she was born." His face lit with the memory. "Anyway, the nearest cabin in around the bend, up there," he said, nodding to the right. "But they don't arrive until August."

"They?"

"The Sigersons. Nice couple. Retired. We used to have the occasional barbecue."

She shook her head, turning back to the view. "So where are we, exactly?"

He pointed. "Town's that way. North is Siamese Ponds. South is Shaker Mountain, Glen Falls is in that direction." He swung around. "And somewhere out there is Canada, a pretty long walk if you were thinking of making a break for the border."

She smiled. "I suppose I did ask."

"Hey, it's nice here. There's even a cinema, at least there was last time I was here."

"What does it show?"

"Old films. A lot of silent stuff. There's quite a crowd turns out."

"Did we go through a time warp or something?"

"No. But there are a lot more places like this than you'd think."

She took a deep breath, feeling the clean air getting into places normally filled with gas fumes and carbon monoxide. "Maybe there are."

"Now, breakfast." He slapped his hands together. "Oh, and before I forget ... if you were considering paddling, just remember the lake is fed from the mountains, and even at this time of the year it'll be freezing."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"Although if you want to get a tan, I'd be more than happy to be on sun crème patrol."

She made a face. "This isn't a holiday, Castle."

"Kate, you need to relax. There's nothing you can do right now, so take it easy. Enjoy yourself."

"Castle …"

"Rick." He sighed slightly. "Fine. Be like that. You can spend your time here inside, watching satellite TV and being all pale and interesting. You can even catch up on Temptation Lane, although that might be too much fun for you."

"I'm not on vacation. Someone tried to kill me."

"I know." For a moment his good humour vanished, and the occasional seriousness that he displayed was on full view. "Kate, that's something I am never going to be able to forget."

She felt a surge of guilt. "Just … so's you know."

His bonhomie returned, even if it was a trifle forced. "Anyway, so if you need any help, just let me know."

"I think I can manage."

"I don't know about that," he added, heading inside. "You know what Dr Motorcycle Boy said about unaccustomed exercise." He glanced back and waggled his eyebrows. "Although I don't think it was that kind of exercise he was worried about."

She laughed, and the sound warmed his soul.