Author's Note: Review, guyssssss. Pretty please. :)

Ethan Harris ran his hand through his blonde hair impatiently. Though the trail it left behind remained unruffled, the look on his face was way below the happy meter.

"You're not going to reach my parents. You do know that by now, right?"

Beckett shrugged. "Well, our resources are very good at locating people."

Esposito was walking in circles around Ethan when he said, "We'd like for your parents to know what's been happening." Ethan turned in his seat to look at him angrily. "What's been happening? You guys caught me walking around in Central Park and now I'm in a police station. That make any sense to you?"

"Actually, it does."

"Oh then, educate me as to why I'm being treated like some criminal." Ethan shot back. "I told you everything that I knew when you came to our school. I'm not stupid—I have rights."

"Okay, then exercise your rights on this." Esposito put an evidence bag on the table, his hard eyes fixed on Ethan. He leaned to look inside the plastic and Beckett watched for any signs of anxiety or nervousness. It usually is present with suspects who are confronted with evidence that implicate themselves. "Does that look familiar?" Beckett asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I thought you said I wasn't under arrest."

"I did." Esposito nodded. "You're not under arrest. We're just asking questions, and we've got the whole interview taped. So if you have reason to believe that we are violating your terms on coming here, then we can go over the video and you can do what you want. But really, we're just asking."

Beckett crossed her arms. "Detective Esposito's right, Ethan. These are all just questions, which is why there is no need for a lawyer around."

Ethan eyed her and gulped. He didn't look so confident now.

"But questions have answers." Beckett continued, looking him in the eyes. "And right now you're not giving us any. So what are we supposed to think?"

Esposito stopped beside his chair and bent low enough to cause a look of discomfort to mark on Ethan's face. He squirmed in his seat, not daring to look at Esposito. "What were you doing at the crime scene?"

"I didn't know it was a crime scene!"

"You're telling me you didn't see it on the evening news." Beckett deadpanned. "Your teacher was killed and you didn't research or anything like that. Ethan, my patience is wearing out."

"You know something and you're not telling us what it is. So that makes me think of two things." Esposito said. "Either you're protecting someone or you know the truth—the whole truth about what happened. But both roads end up the same, you know. It means you had something to do with the murder."

Ethan almost stood up of his chair. "You're crazy. I would never hurt Mr. Shapiro. Never!"

The veins in his neck were popping, and Beckett was almost surprised to see how violent he reacted. She'd seen people defend themselves, blurting out statements without a single breath in between. But the way Ethan was acting felt strange to her. It was off… Beckett witnessed lack of emotions but this time there was too much. It was taking over the entire mood of the room.

"But you know who did." Esposito calmly countered. He was working a strategy to see if Ethan would bite. If he played along, then Beckett and Esposito might be on the right track, but if he dismisses it, then they need another angle to work on.

His eyes watered and his lower lip trembled. She knew that look—Ethan was going to burst. She just hoped it would be to their advantage.

"Mr. Shapiro has been my homeroom teacher since Freshman year. He's been with me and my class for our entire high school ride." Ethan's voice shook with emotion. "So believe me, if I knew who murdered him, I would tell you."

He looked and sounded genuine. Even Beckett was moved by how clearly he loved his teacher. She, of course, put on her best poker face and remained objective. Beckett didn't think he was lying, but he wasn't being totally open to them. She needed to know what he knew, so Beckett had to keep pushing to get the answers. "I need you to understand, Ethan, that what you know could move this case forward. We could finally solve this case if you just help us."

"I want to help you, but I don't know anything. I don't know."

Beckett propped her elbows on the table and her hands reached to scrub her cheeks. She was going to have to try harder to get him to talk. She looked at him, putting her most trusting face on. "Ethan, tell us what you were doing there. Give us that."

"You're right." He nodded after some time. "I knew that was where Mr. Shapiro… I didn't even want to be there. It made me want to throw up thinking that I was walking on the same ground the killer did. It was curiosity. I-I know it sounds ridiculous but I wondered if maybe you guys missed something. I only wanted to help."

"Are you sure?" Esposito asked and sat down beside Beckett. She glanced at Esposito. "You weren't there because you were looking for this?" Esposito lifted the small evidence bag. The dark piece of clothing with part of a letter sewn onto it clung to the plastic. The partial letter 'G' meant a whole lot more to them now than the first time.

"It's a letter—why-why would I be interested in that?" Ethan asked.

"The 'G' here is followed by 'A' and then 'Y' and then 'N'… Gaynor, Ethan. That's your school."

"So what?" Ethan's voice levelled up again. "It's a school jacket. Everyone who goes to Stephen Gaynor has that jacket. It's the same print, same color and we all get new ones every school year. It doesn't mean anything."

"It will mean something if we find your jacket with a big hole where this letter was supposed to be." Beckett replied, keeping him level with her eyes. "And then you're going to have some explaining to do."

"If you find my jacket." Ethan said through gritted teeth. "I'll tell you where it is—it's in my closet at home. But I'm guessing you won't find it because you don't have a warrant to even step inside my house."

"So you know a thing or two about the law. Doesn't mean we stop there."

Ethan stood up and pushed his hands into his pockets. "Look, I'm done being nice and trying to help you out. I'm in high school but it doesn't mean I'm clueless when someone points fingers at me. You seriously still think I had something to do with this?"

Beckett tried to reason with him. "Sit down, Ethan."

"No."

"Sit down. I have one more question."

"Why should I?"

"Because you care too much about your teacher to let this go." Beckett answered. "Deep inside, you don't want to walk away from knowing more."

Esposito slipped a picture of Damon Clarke on the table, and he and Beckett waited for Ethan to react. "Do you recognize him?"

"Who's this?"

"So that's a no." Esposito sighed. "Are you sure you've never seen him before?"

"No disrespect, Detective, but you've been asking me all this time if I'm sure. I've never seen the guy before, I'm freaking sure about that." Ethan remained in his position. "What, am I supposed to know he is? Who the hell is this guy anyways?"

"He's a drug dealer." Beckett said nonchalantly. "That's all we can say."

Ethan took a step back and muttered, "Unbelievable. So first you accuse me of murdering Mr. Shapiro and now your next story is that I'm selling drugs." He was looking at them with contempt. "I watch enough procedural shows to tell you that this interview—is over."

His huge steps landed him out of the room at once, and he didn't turn around. They could hear his hurrying footsteps down the hall. Beckett stretched, placing her hands at the back of her head where she leaned back. Esposito was shaking his head as if he couldn't get believe how hard it was to crack a sixteen year old. He closed the folder, sighing. "Better luck to us next time."

"It wasn't that bad, now that you think of it." Beckett said to him. "Now we know that he's definitely hiding something and I bet he knows exactly what we haven't uncovered about Mr. Shapiro. If he's determined to keep it under wraps to the point that he gets charged with obstruction of justice, then we know we hit a nerve."

Ryan walked into the room and nodded at them. "Hey."

"Hey, Ryan. Any luck finding Ethan's parents?" Beckett asked.

"Looks like the kid was telling the truth about this one. His mother is doing a photoshoot in London—I spoke with her agent—and Mr. Harris is in Seattle performing open heart surgery on an A-list patient. Can't get to either of them."

Beckett frowned. "Oh. Alright. Um, keep tracking Damon Clarke. He's the missing piece. Meanwhile, I'll try and talk to Mr. Shapiro's wife and see if I can score a ticket to their home."

They got to working on their assignments right away. None of them wanted to miss another minute. It was half past six when Ryan answered a phone call that had them all hoping it was the break they needed. "Uh-huh… Right, that's the plate I put a BOLO out on… Where did you find it?... Clarke wasn't there?... Okay, thanks Jameson. Have CSU on the car and call me if there's anything interesting… Thanks. Bye."

"Well?" Esposito immediately wanted to know. Ryan put the phone down and shook his head, though he looked hopeful enough. "Clarke's car got pulled over for a speeding ticket except the person driving wasn't Clarke. It was some bookie who claimed that Clarke let him borrow the car for the afternoon." He explained. "They're questioning him right now. Let's just wait and see if the car tells us where Clarke is hiding."

Beckett had to smile. It was good to hear something promising after being stonewalled for the past days. "Follow up on that, Ryan." She told him. "Esposito, find out everything you can about Shapiro."

"We already have a file, Beckett."

"I mean, go back to when he was a kid. See if he was ever sent to juvie or charged with anything. Check if there were any files that were thrown out of court or something that's sealed. Maybe something in his past interfered with his present."

Beckett's telephone rang. "Beckett."

"Hello, you called earlier. It's Julia Smith."

"Ms. Smith, thank you for calling me back. You got my message?"

"Yes, I did. Daniella asked me to watch over the house for a couple of days while she went out of town. But she didn't tell me where she was going and I don't like to pry."

"I see. Do you know when she'll be back?"

"Oh, her flight's scheduled to be here in about an hour and a half or so. I'll tell her you called."

"That won't be necessary but thank you."

"Uh, Detective Beckett, do you know who killed Daniella's husband yet? He was a good man—they were wonderful people. So sad seeing her like this."

"We're doing the best that we can to find the person responsible." Beckett replied. "Thank you again for all your help."

"Well, the wife's out of New York." Beckett hung up and told Ryan and Esposito.

"Not really the best time to leave. It's only been four days since her husband was murdered." Esposito commented. Beckett opened up Daniella Shapiro's finances and raised a hand. "I got a plane ticket here to Oklahoma. What's there?"

Ryan opened up folders that were on his desk, his lips moving as he read the information written down. "Louie Shapiro was born in Oklahoma, and he moved here when he was twelve. The parents still live there."

"So she could be visiting them to tell them what happened to their son." Beckett said, resigned. She stood up, taking her car keys and her jacket.

"Where are you going?" Ryan asked.

"I'm gonna take a spin. Clear my head. Got a lot going right now." She chuckled. "I'll set my watch so I'll catch Daniella as she heads home from the airport. I'll see you guys later."

x x x

"NYPD's finest! Drinks are on the house!" Castle exclaimed when Ryan and Esposito walked into The Old Haunt. He wiped down the counter and grinned as they took their seats on the stools in front of him.

"Hey, Castle. It's good to see you." Ryan said, laughing.

"We missed you, bro." Esposito added, patting the counter with his hand. Castle expertly poured quality beer into tall mugs and handed it to them without the beer sloshing over. "You have no idea how badly I want to be working on a case." Castle said to them.

"Oh, I've got a case for you. There's woman up at 9th that calls the precinct every morning claiming that her reading glasses are missing. Guess where they are." Esposito grinned.

"On top of her head?"

Ryan shook his head. "Nope. She ate them four years ago but she can't remember. So she thinks someone stole them and files a report every day."

"What?" Castle asked in disbelief but despite the absurdity he laughed. "She ate her glasses? Why in the world did she do that?"

"Do I look like I stayed around to find out?" Esposito retorted.

Castle shook his head. "Geez, she ate the glasses."

Esposito drank his beer but stopped halfway as a laugh came on. Some beer trailed down his chin as he grinned. "Told you, Castle, it's a good case."

He slapped them jokingly on the cheek, though Ryan evaded his hand by ducking down low enough. They laughed a little more until Castle offered to refill their empty mugs. "Another round?"

"No more for me." Ryan smiled and shook his head.

"Yeah, me too. But thanks."

Castle took their mugs away and frowned slightly. "You guys still on the clock?"

"No, we, uh, we ended our shift an hour ago." Esposito answered. Castle looked curiously at his two friends. "Then why are you holding back?"

"Because," Ryan sighed. "We might get called out in the middle of the night and I can't deal with a hangover right now. Case is already driving me nuts."

Castle stopped fidgeting and leaned onto the counter behind him with his arms crossed. "Really? Tell me about it."

They looked at each other in hesitation before Esposito said, "Well, technically, you don't work with us anymore, man. And certain privileges aren't available anymore."

"Like talking to me about your cases." Castle understood, feeling disappointed. This alone was enough of a reason to want things to be different. He felt like an outsider—someone who sticks his nose in police business with no idea of how things really function. And somehow it felt like it was only yesterday when he put on that Kevlar vest.

When he lost Beckett, he also lost the job and the people he'd come to love over the years.

Ironically, it sometimes felt normal again. He'd talk to Lanie everyday and Castle would invite Ryan and Esposito for drinks. Then something like this happens and you get a kick from reality.

"Sorry man." Esposito looked at him apologetically. Castle forced a smile and attempted to laugh the whole thing off. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he tried to push the lump down his throat. He really needed to get a hold of himself. Castle turned around and pushed liquor bottles backward. Clearly, they didn't need arranging—but he moved them around anyways. It was better than having to fight back tears in front of his best friends.

The bar was quiet as Ryan and Esposito understood the gravity of the situation and politely pretended that the picture frame of Castle riding a bicycle was the most eye-catching thing ever.

"You know, um," Castle started, still facing the rows of liquor in front of him. "This is as awkward for me as I'm sure it is for you. And I'm sorry for making it what it is." Castle faced them with a tired smile and shrugged. "It's going to be two months next week. I mean, I understand why it's hard for you to be the same around me. Honestly, my detective skills have been a little rusty now."

Esposito and Ryan simply looked back at him as if they understood that nothing they say or do will change what he was feeling. If they were giving him the go signal to keep on talking, then he was taking it. "So," He scratched his head. "How is she?"

Esposito smiled a little smile. "Like you wouldn't know? Lanie tells me you call her everyday to ask."

"Yeah, but Lanie's down at the morgue all the time. You guys don't miss out on anything with her. So why don't you tell me?"

"She's… She's not so good." Ryan answered openly. "Beckett tries really hard to do the, uh, the right thing. But she needs time, Castle."

He nodded. "Right. Time. It's not a problem. I'll wait." Castle smiled. "Time does make the heart grow fonder."

"But it's not really how long it's going to take, is it?" Esposito looked at him directly. "I know you, Castle, you're going to stick around. It's not being with her that drives you mad."

"I miss her. I really, really miss her." Castle took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "And there's just nothing that would make up for that. If I could get the chance to jump back in and make things right again—"

"You still don't think it was your fault, right?" Esposito asked him sternly. "You did what you thought was best for her, and you shouldn't be sorry for that. Josh was the idiot, and he still is to me. Look, you made a choice that blew up in your face but that doesn't mean you're wrong."

"You cared about Beckett more than Josh ever did because you stayed when he left. And even when she asked you to walk away, you didn't. And don't think for a second, Castle, that she doesn't know that." Ryan said. "Beckett will always be Beckett. She'll be tough and she won't let you down easy—but she knows you're there. You have no idea how much that means to her."

"Though one day, Castle, you're going to have to tell her how much she means to you."

"I think she knows."

"I think she's afraid." Esposito said seriously. "Afraid that you might be for real."

Castle looked confused. "Well, I am. I'm serious about this… about her."

Ryan jumped in his stool. "And it is seriously creeping me out how we're talking about Beckett and she calls." He flipped his phone open. "Yeah, this is Ryan… Yeah, I'm with Esposito… What? Where did they find him?... Oh, you've got to be kidding me… This is rich." Ryan laughed. "No, not at all. We don't mind… Okay, see you. Bye."

"They found Damon Clarke." Ryan said excitedly, already on his feet. Esposito had the perfect look of surprise on his face as he followed Ryan. "What? Just now?" '

"Yeah. You won't believe how they caught him."

"Try me."

"He called 911."

"Damon Clarke called 911?"

"He did."

Castle, feeling miserably left out, raised a hand that stopped their conversation. "Uh, excuse me, is Damon Clarke a baddie?"

Esposito nodded. "We think he's our killer." He and Ryan were already huddled at the door. "Don't tell the press I said that."

"Yeah. Scout's honor." Castle nodded, then looked longingly at them. He wished he knew what was going on, or who the heck Damon Clarke was. He wanted back in the loop again, you know? He used to be need-to-know. Now he just didn't know.

"Thanks for the beer, Castle! Good seeing you!" Ryan yelled, standing outside the door. He waved. "Yeah, thanks, Castle. We'll do this again, alright?" Esposito said, his foot out the door. Castle could tell he was itching to leave him, so he let them go.

"Sure, guys. Next time." He flashed the detectives a limp smile. The bell jingled as the door closed and Castle watched their shadows play up the stairs until they disappeared. The bell stopped ringing, and he was left to stand in the middle of an empty and quiet bar.

He felt unintentionally abandoned. But still—abandoned.

He stared at the door and waited for someone else to walk in. After a few minutes, he thought maybe he was jinxing it.

Castle didn't bother to put the 'Closed' signage on the door. Instead, he poured himself a glass of beer and closed his eyes.

For the moment that his eyes were shut, he let himself be slipped away by the light feeling that turned on him. He raised the glass to his nose and inhaled the smell of good beer.

Castle opened his eyes and he was back to the empty and quiet bar.

Sure that no one else was around, he smiled and said to himself, "Cheers." Then he knocked back the glass and drank it all in one gulp.

x x x

"The girl you tried to kill—she's in the hospital and she's alive. Officers are taking her statement right now." Beckett informed the drunken man sitting in front of her. He reeked of tequila, and seeing the stains on his shirt, she guessed he was doing body shots before they interrupted his night of fun.

He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. "Can you tone down the lights in here or something?"

"Killing people seems to be a running gag for you, isn't it, Damon?"

"I didn't… mmdin't kill 'nybody." He slurred and put his head down on the table to rest.

Beckett pursed her lips and hit her hand on the table, causing him to sit straight up. "Sober up, Damon. This is going to be long night."

"Why the hell did you that? Ugh, my head's all messed up." Damon Clarke grabbed his head and moaned.

"Too many to drink tonight, I see."

"Take it from me, 'Tective. You could use a night like this one."

Beckett crossed her arms and looked at him. "A night of murder—I'm sorry, attempted murder—I think I can do without a night like yours."

"I didn't kill her." He chuckled, still drunk. But his demeanor had improved from when uniforms picked him up. She picked up the report they sent to her and gave the file a once over. "You're right, you didn't kill her. You just tried to. Let me see, you hit her with a broken bottle. She was on the ground, then you choked her." Beckett gave him an icy glare. "Doesn't really collaborate with your 'I didn't kill her' line."

Damon smoothed his messy hair down. His bright blue eyes would have been beautiful to look at, but they were bloodshot and swimming with alcohol. "She hit me first. I was defending myself."

"Mm-hmm."

"I was defending myself."

"Of course you were. So hitting her once wasn't enough?"

"The bitch chipped my tooth when she pummelled her cheap heels to my face!"

"And this was when? After you forced yourself on her?" Beckett met his eyes and held a stare. He didn't answer to that and he was smart enough to shut up. Damon seemed more alert now, and she was grateful that the severity of what happened opened his eyes.

"I called 911, didn't I?"

Beckett faked a laugh. "Oh, we're still going with this?"

"You know, you're not being fair. Just because I got a record, you look at me for all the faults. Come on." Damon said. "She attacked me."

"Right." Beckett said in a clip tone. She was done with the warm-up and was now ready to play ball. "I'm sure another detective will attend to your needs. At this moment, I'd like to tell you I'm charging you for the murder of Louie Shapiro."

Beckett could see him blowing a fuse as her words reached him. He looked lost for about a minute, then he recovered. He fidgeted and looked at Beckett, though it seemed like he wanted to say something. She smiled at him. "Good. I finally got you to shut up. So before you start claiming that you haven't heard of him or start swearing that you've never met him—here's a picture. Look closely before you answer me, Damon, because one wrong move could land you in a prison bus in ten minutes. Clear?"

She put his picture on the table. He picked it up with his dirty fingers and stared at Louie's smiling portrait. Beckett watched him put the enlarged photo down after mere seconds. Damon took a deep breath and looked at her. "Can I say something… Detective?"

Her eyes narrowed, and Beckett wondered what exactly he was up to.

"You're crazy. All of you are crazy. Just thought I should tell you that."

"Not as crazy as you, Damon. Killing someone with your own drug?" Beckett shook her head. "Bad move."

"My own drug? Look, I know you've dug up my history. You know I've done time for drugs." Damon gave Beckett an arrogant sneer. "But I didn't discover cocaine, meth or heroin. I traffic them, I'll tell you that. I sell them to all kinds of people. I don't have my own drug. If I did, I'd be one lucky son of a bitch."

Son of bitch, yeah, she agreed. Lucky, not so much. Beckett wanted to say.

"Did you sell to him?"

"Nope. I haven't seen him before. And I certainly couldn't have murdered someone I haven't met." He smiled like he'd already gotten away with the crime. But Beckett didn't give up easily. "Not necessarily. But the thing is, we have more than just evidence of Blue Flame. We have video of you at the crime scene. Once my warrant comes through and we find the syringe you used and we match it to the puncture wound we found—you're done. Help yourself and come clean."

"You're not fooling me with that. I got nothing to do with this."

Something tickled Beckett's brain, and she decided to try something out. "How about this? You didn't sell to him, okay. Did you sell to kids?"

Damon grinned. "You know I can't answer that without getting into trouble, Detective."

"Listen to me, Damon. If you don't start giving me the answers you know, I will tear your whole life piece by piece until I find out. That means talking to everyone you've ever so much as breathed on." Beckett said defiantly. "And I'm sure a lot of them won't be pleased that you've allowed a bunch of cops to ask the wrong questions—if you know what I mean."

He nibbled on his lip, lines of perplexity marring his face. Damon Clarke smiled nervously at Beckett. "Got any kid in particular?"

Beckett felt relieved and she nodded in approval. After asking the officer outside to take the yearbook to them, she flipped the pages to where the students of Mr. Shapiro were. They were all there, all twenty-two of them, smiling radiant smiles. Damon looked down on the colored pictures.

Beckett crossed her fingers and hoped that this would lead them somewhere. She couldn't deal with another wall blocking her every move on this case.

"Hypothetically, you—"

She looked at him with one eyebrow arched. "Hypothetically?"

"Just go with me, alright? You want to know what I know, right?"

Beckett sighed. She didn't want to, but it didn't feel like she had a lot of options. "Fine. Go on."

"So I was saying, hypothetically, if I recognized one of these kids from somewhere… what would that mean?"

"What would it mean for the case or what would it mean for you?"

"Well, I'm trying to be nice 'cause you're really pretty." He laughed. "So if you don't mind answering both…"

She remained unfazed at his shot at flattery, though it stroke her ego nicely. She looked at him. "I can't talk about the case to a suspect, sorry. But for you—I don't know yet what's going to happen."

"Do you mean I'm taking my chances on something I might even get time for? Seriously?" Damon drummed his fingers on the table as he grinned. "Are you convincing me to back out of this?"

"If you help me, maybe I'll tell the DA you cooperated. Take it or leave it."

"You don't waste any time, do you?" Damon commented and went back to turning the pages. After awhile, he nodded and pointed to a face in the book. "Him. I've seen him before."

Beckett pulled the yearbook back to her. Her heart dropped to her stomach as she recognized the face. Ethan Harris. "Did you sell drugs to him?"

"No, but I've seen him."

"Where?"

"Let's say, hypothetically, I was at the park that night where that guy was killed. Hypothetically, I was looking for customers. I heard some noises, and I hid behind some trees—hypothetically. That's when I hypothetically saw him."

"And you're sure?"

"Positive."

"What was he wearing, Damon? In the hypothetical sense."

"I don't know, some university jacket or something. Hypothetically, it was really dark."

Beckett couldn't piece all the information back yet, but she was sure that this sent her reeling to the wall. She looked at Damon and judged if he was being truthful or not. He returned her stare, smiling. "I left before it was too late, Detective. That kid? He wasn't there alone. He was hypothetically with your dead man. They were going at it pretty loudly. When I was gone, they were still there—and they looked about ready to throw some punches at each other."

Kate Beckett wisely didn't respond. Ethan's face appeared in her head, and a possibility that never occurred to her did at that interval. Ethan was with Mr. Shapiro before he died and he was probably one of the people who last saw him alive. Why would he lie about being there? Unless…

"Hey, Detective, I know that look on your face. So, do you still think I murdered him?"