Author's note: My wife was getting anxious to know what happened to Beckett after her strange experience with Royce. I've been busy, but I'm keen to see this story through. Just a brief installment to ease back in.


Thud. Thud. Thud.

The breeze was freezing, but she welcomed it.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

There was nothing but the sound of her sneakers hitting the asphalt. Beckett didn't even notice the traffic noise, or the throngs of people milling along the sidewalks – her only focus was the ground beneath her feet as she ran.

She woke up early, disoriented and with an elevated pulse. Her rapidly-fading dreams were full of her mother's face, ticking clocks, and doorways that opened into a white void. By the time she'd splashed several handfuls of cold water onto her face in front of the bathroom mirror, her hands had almost stopped shaking.

The coffee machine was burbling away when the sudden noise from behind her made her yelp out loud, spinning around with her eyes darting frantically around the whole open plan area. It took almost five minutes for her to realise it had been the sound of the morning paper colliding with the outside of her door.

When she felt the first tear roll down from the corner of her eye, she abandoned her breakfast plans and pulled on her running gear. The sun was already up, and she needed to get out of her apartment. And so she ran.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

It had been almost fifty minutes, and her heart was pounding healthily in her chest. Her cheeks were flushed, and her brow was sheened with sweat. She felt utterly alive.

Finally, her apartment building came into view, and she slowed her pace until she eventually came to a stop just outside the main entrance.

She glanced around the busy street. Saturday morning in New York.

Three minutes later she was once again inside her apartment, stripping off her running gear on her way to the shower. The warm water was blissful against her skin.

Her mind drifted to the dream again – because it was certainly just a dream. She had no room in her world-view for any other possibility.

But it was so real, she thought, with a shiver despite the heat of the steam and water.

You need to understand, her mind whispered in Royce's voice, and her eyes snapped open. Same old bathroom. Nothing unusual.

"What I need is a vacation," she muttered, but her defiance did little to quell the lingering sense of strangeness and unease that she felt.

She closed her eyes again, letting the water soothe her tense muscles and wash away the grime of the city. By daylight, in the mostly sane waking world, standing in her own shower, she thought it would be easy to dismiss the experience as the product of an overly tired and stressed mind, but her nerves were still jangling.

Castle would have a field day with this, her mind remarked, and she felt her heart skip a beat.

The scene in her parents' bedroom was too familiar for comfort. The argument between her father and mother. Him admiring her strength, but worrying about the risks of her work.

Then there's that word again: always.

She leaned her head against the cool tiles, feeling the stream of water hit the middle of her back.

Castle was in love with her. She knew that already. He had been for quite a while now, and she also knew that he'd dive headfirst into a relationship with her, given the chance.

She shivered despite the heat and humidity. All she would have to do was… what?

Kiss him? Done that already.

She frowned, even as her pulse increased slightly. It just wasn't that simple. It couldn't be, because she had baggage. She had a purpose in life, and a duty. A responsibility.

A ponderous chain, her mind whispered, this time in her mother's voice.

Beckett lifted her heard from the tiles, ran her fingers through her hair to brush out the last of the shampoo, then switched the water off with a sigh.

She stepped out of the shower and quickly towelled herself dry before wrapping the towel around herself.

Her gaze flicked towards the large mirror above the sink, but it was fogged. The woman she glimpsed within was just a vague shape clad in white.

She reached out towards the glass, then her hand paused in mid air.

Stephanie. That's what she'd been thinking about before–

"Before I fell asleep on the couch," she said, cringing at the sound of her own voice bouncing off the hard surfaces of the bathroom.

Had he called her? He said he wasn't planning to.

Then I said he should invite her over for Christmas dinner, she thought, and her mouth twisted in disgust at herself.

"And I know what you're going to say, mom – and Royce," she muttered sarcastically to the empty room. "He won't wait forever."

The sudden sound behind her made her flinch, and she spun around.

Large drops of water fell from the shower head, splattering noisily against the metal drain.

Tick, tock.

Tick, tock.

She stood there motionless for a long moment, then turned and opened the bathroom door, stepping out into her bedroom. She left the lights on behind her.


Castle was deep in the zone, fingers dancing over the keyboard and tongue poking out of the right side of his mouth.

A half-finished mug of coffee stood forgotten nearby, his entire focus on the glowing screen of the sleek Apple laptop in front of him.

"Rook turned towards her, with the barest trace of an amused grin on his lips," he mumbled to himself, unaware that he had deepened his voice and was mimicking the grin.

"Heat raised an eyebrow, then she slowly lifted her hand and–"

Castle recoiled as the surface of his desk buzzed loudly, then a moment later he heard the text message tone from his iPhone.

"Son of a…" he said darkly, reaching for the device even as he took a breath to calm his pulse. The notification said Beckett, and he smiled.

Never was a man so happy about homicide, he thought, as he swiped the screen to read the message.

Are you busy? I was thinking of going out for lunch in a bit.

His eyebrows shot up. This was unusual, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He quickly tapped out a reply and sent it.

Meet you at your place in 20.