15:04

Castle's chest burned, like a fire was roaring through him, eating through his very being from his heart outward, where the seared edges of his destroyed tissues screamed in their mangled protest, fighting to be freed from their nylon stitches, discontent in their knotted prison.

As he bent over Kate's desk, Castle found himself edging further and further forward, further and further down towards an unfortunate encounter between hard, cold wood and his own forehead. He fought to stay upright, but the searing in his chest made it consistently harder to stay where he was, to maintain a confident posture and even to focus on the simplest of tasks set before him. His eyes grew unfocused and his head spun. Screw Tylenol, he thought to himself, give me morphine.

Once his signature was finally at the bottom of the page, slightly shaky and marginally slanted, Castle sat back. The movement was so strained he found himself holding his breath as he shifted, then letting it go in a huge huff one he'd repositioned himself. At last comfortable – in the loosest possible sense of the word – Castle scanned his mind, attempting to find some justifiable step forward they could take to lead them in the right direction.

Castle wondered how Kate was doing.

15:16

Beckett wondered how Rick was doing.

Something was off about him. He'd seemed eager to leave the hospital, and she still smiled when she thought of his indignation at the loss of his slug, which no doubt would have ended up in his loft, somewhere presentable as a conversation starter, so Castle could tell of his bravery and heroism.

Kate's thought train faltered as Gates raised her voice. She had to focus, but Castle was in pain and she had some nagging, urging instinct inside her, pulling her toward him, like he had his very own gravitational hold on her. Like he was her core, like she couldn't possibly stay grounded without him.

Her heart rate was just a little too fast, her breathing a little too quick and she knew her head wasn't where it should be. If she had been in that room alone, Mendoza would have taken control in a matter of seconds. That wasn't allowed to happen – she couldn't let Mendoza walk free. She wouldn't be able to tell Ryan and she knew Castle would also be shattered. She knew there was something here – this guy knew something. She just wasn't sure how to dig for it.

She hoped Castle could find something, could think of something, no matter how outside the box.

And as that thought hit her, Kate had to suppress a laugh, because she realised that had anyone even suggested she require Castle's help four years ago she possibly would have floored them.

15:24

Castle was thinking – and maybe it was nothing – but he wondered if, despite a complete lack of remorse, a Cazador could show protectiveness over another human being... He wondered...

At the raid, the gang members had all been huddled around the table so they could shoot attackers from all sides, but... Castle knew he was missing something! He had to dig deeper, but things were so foggy and he wished the room wouldn't sway like that! The desk before him shifted and rippled like water. He refused to lose himself; Castle shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He thought.

He pictured the Cazadors squatting around the table, the white packs of powder piled behind them like a model Mount Everest, surrounded by bloody scales and torn red balloons. Castle wondered what poor soul had gotten enough monetary woes to get into trafficking for these guys. Tall, white guy, dark hair. Wears a suit, carried a roll-along case and keeps his passport in a leather cover – customs wouldn't even blink as he strolled past, a half a million dollars sitting in his stomach.

Maybe the victim?

Maybe he'd agreed to do a drug run for them and had been caught out or the plane had to make an emergency stop and he couldn't help but pass the product...

No, Castle countered, then he would owe them well over fifteen thousand dollars.

But maybe he did and he was just paying it in small sums – a drug trafficking payment plan.

That was the victim covered with theories; in his mind, Castle began a new thread for the Cazadors and began weaving a web.

He had thought about the table in the middle of the Cazadors' stingy room. It was quite close to the wall opposite the door – not completely central, though it had been equidistant from the walls to the detectives' left and right so they'd have good aim at whoever tried to bust in. On that side closest to the wall had sat younger men with smaller guns and much smaller egos, as well as far less a capacity to take Beckett in the box.

Those were the guys – the Cazador trainees. The guys Mendoza might even have the aptitude to look after...

Castle lit up Kate's screen and was relieved to find she was still logged in. He was unsure at first how to navigate the system, but he found a document pathway to recent items in the shared area and was able to find the booking forms for the Cazadors. He opened them all – twelve of them, not including Mendoza – and looked at their pictures. He kept up the young boys, five of them, and read through their information. Once he reached the final form and was starting to worry, he found he needn't even read past the first line.

Omar Mendoza.

Diego's baby brother.

That'll do.

15:45

Kate was startled, once again, out of a reverie, this time by one short, sharp knock on the interrogation room door.

"Your boy's come looking for you , eh? Thinks you can't handle me," Mendoza smiled a disgusting smile but Kate ignored him and excused herself, leaving Gates to say quietly yet more weighted with authority than if she'd shouted, "You look at me." She enunciated each word like a separate sentence and suddenly commanded Mendoza's full attention more effectively that if she'd stood and danced the Cancan.

But Beckett was glad to leave – she'd been starting to feel like that room had been getting hotter and the air pressure greater with every passing minute, making additional comments to Gates's body of interrogation, as they'd agreed, so Beckett might still have the opportunity to play Good Cop later.

"Castle?" she said quietly once she'd stepped out to meet him. Her expression faltered. "Are you–" but he didn't let her finish voicing her concern for his health as she looked at him, standing white and sweaty before her, like all the blood had run to his toes and stayed there.

"This guy," Castle held up a piece of paper with a photo of a teenage boy on it alongside his booking details.

"He's a Cazador? He's fifteen."

"I know. And his name?"

The penny dropped and Beckett gasped. "Mendoza," she whispered.

That's right, Diego in there had a younger brother, but, more importantly, Kate Beckett had leverage. "Castle, you're–" she began to exclaim, then lowered her voice. "You're brilliant."

Castle only grinned in a Why, thank you way and headed towards the viewing room after his eyes had softened to molten orbs, melting her with her own special look, reserved for her. Possibly, she thought, because he'd already tried other ways to win her over, and so far that was the only successful attempt he'd discovered.

He shut the door to the ob room and she turned for the interrogation room.

Time to get this SOB, she thought to herself and smiled.