A/N: I had this written several weeks ago, but I couldn't publish it until I made sure the continuity was right with the next couple of chapters. In any case, sorry for the delay. This and the next chapter are pretty canon-heavy, but the really fun stuff takes off after that. Thanks for reading!

Chapter Twenty-One

Maybe it was a product of the Irish culture, thought Beckett as she scoped out Rourke's establishment from a back corner.

Incandescent bulbs threw dim yellow light into the open spaces of the pub, illuminating and casting shadows along the faces of those gathered around Jack Coonan's coffin. They'd placed it on top of a pool table, bottles of alcohol lined up on the shelves beneath his casket. But there was nothing irreverent about it. No, the gloom of loss was authentic.

Many were gathered there for Jack Coonan's wake, and Beckett felt a pang of sympathy for the dead man. From all accounts, he'd been honorable in his own way and many of the faces there were genuinely distraught. One woman in particular with a cascade of wavy brunette hair looked especially stricken as tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked.

Finn Rourke, or so she assumed by his place of prominence at the front of the room, was a grizzled old man. The years had seen the thick brush of his beard whiten completely, and lines born from both age and stress marked his weary face. Despite that, he stood tall and proud, his eyes glinting with the icy blue sharpness that only a man who'd fought his way to the top and ruthlessly defended his perch could possess. There was wisdom there, fashioned by a lifetime of trial and error, but never regret.

Finn Rourke was one of those rare criminals that Beckett found herself respecting despite herself because he operated on a code of honor that preceded the establishment of law enforcement.

Didn't make him any less of a criminal, though, she reminded herself.

When Rourke spoke, everyone quieted in respect, his rumbling brogue booming even with the bar's smothering acoustics. "An angel visited Jackie's home two nights ago. Same angels that took the pharaoh's first born. Now I know some of you think you don't know the angel of death. But trust me, lads, he knows you. So here's to darling Jackie. He's up in heaven now you can be sure, he broke in when they was in vespers!"

Raucous laughter thundered throughout the bar as they all downed their drinks in tribute to their fallen brother.

With a gesture to Castle for him to follow her closely, Beckett snaked her way through the tables until she stood before Rourke himself.

The leader of the Westies narrowed his eyes at her and Castle, trying to read their purpose no doubt. "Come to honor the dead, I hope?" he questioned, a note of menace bolstering the strength of his even tone. "If not, I'll thank you to move away from this place."

Beckett stood her ground, knowing that men like Rourke only respected strength. "I'm Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD. I'm here about Jack Coonan."

Rourke stilled. "Like I told the other detective—"

Damn. Beckett should've known that Slaughter would get here first.

"—I know nothing about Jackie's murder. In fact, none of us know anything. If that's all, I'm sure you can find your own way out."

Beckett made a snap decision. Dangerous as it might be, Rourke wasn't going to give her anything without a little push.

Or a shove.

She stepped into Rourke's space and drilled her eyes onto his. Pitching her voice low, she bit back. "You're lying. You know exactly what happened to Jack Coonan. That once-over you gave Trucho was just a bit of theater to throw them all off, just like your eulogy."

A menacing growl emitted from the depths of Rourke's chest. "Now you be careful, Detective."

"Or what?" she baited. "You'll kill me like you killed Coonan after he went to the cops about you?"

"Enough!" he roared, images of a fierce warrior from bygone days flashing through Beckett's mind as Rourke's temper flashed. "I'll not have you slander him like this. Not tonight."

Beckett inwardly smirked. She'd hooked him the moment Rourke lost his temper. Now all she had to do was reel in the information she wanted. "I got it straight from Jack. I'm the cop he reached out to just before he died."

"He turned on you, didn't he?" Castle's voice was soft, almost compassionate, and Beckett was startled when she felt Castle at her back. She was glad for it, though. Irrationally, his presence gave her confidence.

For the first time that night, Rourke looked slightly troubled, his eyes focusing on the wall fixture behind them. "You don't know what you're talking about, boyo. Jackie Coonan was loyal to his last breath. He died in a state of grace. Even if what you're saying is true, you can be sure that Jackie wasn't talking about any of us."

"How can you be so sure?" Beckett asked, pressing for more. She could feel it in her bones that this was it.

The corners of Rourke's lips turned up in a humorless smile. "You've heard of me. You've heard I'm a gangster, and a thief, surely you've heard I've killed men. But you answer me this, Detective. Have you ever heard Finn Rourke running drugs? Someone was bringing it in here, into my neighborhood, my backyard. I sent Jackie to find the bastards behind it. Find them and punish them, according to our rules."

"Only they punished him instead," Castle finished for him.

"Aye. That they did." The steel in Rourke's back loosened and just a fraction of a second, he looked like just any other old man on the street and not the leader of a powerful gang. Then the visage burned away and the leader of the Westies returned with renewed vigor, his brogue thickening with his temper. "Now, if you've got probable cause, I suggest you arrest me now. If not, I'll remind ye this is a private party, and I'll thank ye to get the hell out of my place."

…

Beckett drummed her fingers along the steering wheel and watched Castle out of the corner of her eye. He was leaning over the dash in an effort to see better out the windshield into the inky night, and she smiled a little to herself at his eagerness.

"Give her minute, Castle. She can't just follow us out. It'd be too obvious."

Castle's snapped his head around and stared at her with wide eyes. "You noticed her?"

Beckett suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Just barely. "I'm a detective. If there's one thing I know how to spot, it's a lady looking to unburden herself."

Just then a slight figure slipped out of the building, a well of noise rising and falling as the doors shut behind her, and she darted across the shadowed street to where Beckett's unmarked cruiser was parked.

Beckett rolled down the window just as the other woman made it to the car, tossing a worried glance behind her. Beckett wasn't too surprised to see that she was the same woman who'd looked so miserable at Coonan's wake.

The woman met Beckett's eyes briefly, then flicked her gaze around nervously. "Hi, I'm Molly."

"Hi Molly. I'm Kate. Can I give you a ride?"

Molly breathed out a quiet sigh of relief. "Anywhere but here."

Beckett unlocked the door and waited for Molly to climb in before starting the engine. Through the rearview mirror, Beckett saw Molly's hands fidgeting in her lap as she stared resolutely out the window. A wash of compassion swept through the detective.

It wasn't easy losing a loved one.

Silence reigned for the first ten minutes of the drive as they each waited to get a feel for the situation. Even Castle remained surprisingly still, letting her take the lead on this.

It was Molly who eventually broke the quiet. "You're the cop Jackie called just before he died, aren't you?"

Beckett nodded, her eyes meeting Molly's through the rearview mirror. "Yes. I'm sorry for your loss."

Molly smiled humorlessly, her dark eyes welling at the reminder. "Jackie's reputation was part of what attracted me to him." She must have sensed something in the silence because she added, "You tellin' me you never had a thing for bad boys, Kate?"

Beckett's eyes flicked over to Castle without her permission. She had to hand it to him. His casual expression didn't change, but from the stillness of his body, Beckett knew that he was listening intently for her answer.

"No comment," the detective replied dryly.

Molly chuckled a little, but it trickled away with a melancholic sigh. "We shoulda known it'd catch up with him. Jackie and I never talked business, but I know he wanted out. We talked about going somewhere far away. Last week he warned me he might get there first."

That caught Castle's attention. "Jack saw this coming?"

"We spent every night together. He couldn't get to sleep without me next to him. But last week he wouldn't even let me come over. Anybody but Jack and I'd have thought he had something going on the side."

Beckett hated to ask, especially since it seemed like Molly and Jack had been devoted to one another, but… "That never crossed your mind?"

Molly stilled then she reached for the thin chain she wore around her neck. She lifted it over her head and handed it to Castle who held it up so that Beckett could get a glimpse of it as she momentarily took her eyes off the road.

"That's the last thing Jack ever gave me on the last night I ever spent with him. Jack said if things broke bad, he wanted me to give this to the police. Guess he was right, after all."

…

Detective Slaughter was waiting by Beckett's desk when they got back from dropping Molly off at her apartment.

Oh boy. This wasn't going to be pretty.

Castle, walking behind her and chattering on about one theory or another (she'd lost track somewhere between CIA conspiracy, alien brainwashing, and a mix of the two), remained oblivious to the sparks of animosity emanating from Slaughter until Castle looked up and realized with a slow blink that his chair was occupied.

"You're in my chair," Castle said inanely. Slaughter gifted him with a deadly stare and Castle swallowed before hastily adding, "But you're welcome to sit in it, of course."

Ah, well, great job reinforcing the idea that people can do whatever they want as long as they're scary enough, Castle.

"Detective Slaughter," she greeted guardedly. "What can I do for you?"

"Detective Beckett," he returned in kind, enunciating the consonants with an extra little punch, "you can explain to me why I have reports of you poaching my case."

Beckett set her bag down on her desk. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Slaughter scoffed. "Don't play dumb with me. My contact in the Westies tells me that you showed up to grill old man Rourke just earlier tonight. What were you doing if you weren't investigating my case?"

Beckett leaned back in her chair in a show of unaffected nonchalance. She could have maintained a physical advantage by standing, but she wanted to prove that she didn't need cheap intimidation tactics like that. "The world does not revolve around you, Slaughter. I was investigating my case. And if there happens to be some overlap with yours, well, then the universe does seem to have a unique sense of humor."

"That's absolute bullshit, and you know it. You may not be breaking the rules, but you're sure as hell violating the spirit of the law."

Beckett let out a harsh bark of laughter at that. "You're going to talk to me about violating the spirit of the law? How many charges for unnecessary roughness have you gotten recently, Slaughter? How many of your partners have been killed in the line of duty because you didn't bother watching their backs? You're an asshole, Slaughter, but I never took you for a hypocrite."

Instead of angering him, Beckett's calling him out only seemed to amuse him. "Wow. Wow. That's how you want to play, is it? Fine, fine. Do your thing then, Beckett. Don't come cryin' to me when you realize you're in over your head. Oh and one more thing." He stood and got in Beckett's face as he sneered, "Don't think you get a free pass to go interfering in everything just because you're Montgomery's pet detective."

His implication wasn't lost on any of them. Beckett had heard enough of that kind of misogynistic talk throughout her career, so it didn't even faze her when creeps like Slaughter tried to demean her like this. She knew who she was, and she wasn't about to let Slaughter throw her off by way of some distasteful slander.

Castle, on the other hand, was incensed.

"Watch your mouth," Castle growled, his tone was as low and menacing as she'd ever heard it.

It was also damn sexy. (Not that she would ever admit that out loud.)

Beckett was torn between smiling and rolling her eyes at his ill-fated attempt at chivalry. Castle's desire to defend her honor was sweet, but wholly unneeded.

Slaughter was less than impressed. He snorted, waving Castle off with a dismissive gesture. "Or what? You gonna hit me, Sherlock?"

A tick developed in Castle's jaw and Beckett came to the startling realization that this would be the first time since she put on the badge that she'd pretend not to see a civilian deck a cop. If he did. Which he wouldn't. But if he did.

"Maybe I will," Castle replied with steel in his voice.

Slaughter laughed as he scratched at his beard. "Keep a leash on your pet, Beckett. Don't want him to hurt himself."

Beckett kept her voice bland as she refused to give in to Slaughter's attempts to rile her up. "You know where the exit is, Slaughter."

"What a jackhole," Castle muttered as soon as the elevator doors closed on Slaughter's smug visage.

"What happened to him being a great character for a book and all? What'd you call it—kicking ass and taking names?"

Castle sent her a look that said you should know better. "There's a reason guys like that should only exist in fiction."

Beckett suddenly found herself in a magnanimous mood toward Slaughter after hearing Castle's opinion of the gang detective. Call her twisted, but she liked that Castle didn't seem interested in hanging out with Slaughter.

"I don't approve of Slaughter's methods, but I have to admit that he's not precisely a bad cop. He's just an awful person to be around."

"No kidding," said Castle as he plopped into the chair Slaughter vacated. He jumped back up immediately with a squeal of distaste. "Aw man. Afterbum!"

"Excuse me?"

"You know, when you sit where someone else sat before and the chair's still warm from their butts. Afterbum."

"Who even says that?"

Castle shrugged, resting his hip on the edge of her desk instead of sitting back down. "Beats me. I saw it on Urban Dictionary when researching slang, so it's gotta be right."

Beckett shook her head, not knowing what to say to someone who could alternate between knight in shining and immature twelve-year-old at the drop of a dime. Even more perplexing was the fact that she found both personas unsettlingly endearing.

Then of course there was the scorching lover she'd gotten an insides-melting taste of the night before they left for L.A., the disgustingly-appealing doting father, and perhaps most dangerous of all, the sweet, gentle man who looked at her like she was something to be treasured.

She hadn't been exaggerating last night when she'd said that he scared the living hell out of her.

Wannabe-badboy slash arrogant-jerk she could deal with. Richard Castle the man with all his complexities however…That was a whole lot more daunting.

"So, what's the plan?"

"The plan is to go home tonight and check out the bus locker first thing tomorrow morning."

"How do you know it's to a bus locker?"

"It's always to a bus locker."

"Ooookay. So what time do we head out tomorrow morning?"

Kate arched an eyebrow at him. "We? Don't you have a New Year's party to prepare for tomorrow night?"

"That's what event planners are for. But, I am glad to hear that you remember because you still haven't told me whether you're going or not."

"Castle, I'm a cop. I'm not gonna go schmooze with your celebrity friends."

"Come on! It's not like it's going to be some huge thing. Besides, Esposito, Ryan, and even Captain Montgomery are going, so it's not like you won't know anyone there."

"Esposito and Ryan are only going because of the open bar. Captain Montgomery is used to going to these things. I'm not."

Castle narrowed his eyes at her. "What do you mean by these things? It's a party, Beckett. You're supposed to relax, have fun, celebrate the fact that we got through another year and that we have another year before the end of the world according to the Mayan calendar. What's so wrong with that?"

"Nothing! It's not—I just—why are you making such a big deal out of my going or not anyway?" she finally snapped at him, her tone more abrasive than she'd meant it to be.

His head jerked back slightly, almost like she'd hit him, his earlier, puppy-like eagerness draining out of him in one go. His shoulders slumped and she couldn't get the image of a disappointed little boy out of her head. She wanted to say something, anything so that he would stop looking so defeated, but the apology clogged in her throat.

"I just want you to be there," he eventually admitted, "With me. You know, looking forward to a new year?"

Oh Castle.

She sighed, rubbing her forehead with the palm of her hand.

They really needed to talk, didn't they? Or else things were just going to get more and more complicated, and then Castle was going to get his heart involved, if it wasn't already—damn did that thought scare her—and then she was going to mess up and disappoint him because let's face it, she was a bit of a screw-up when it came to personal relationships. Why would she even want to try when it'll more likely than not end up with heartache for both of them?

But the vice around her chest tightened every time she looked at him, and God help her, she was too selfish to step away.

She wanted him. She wanted the warmth of him, his easy friendship. She wanted the late night phone calls they'd exchanged during his time in California to become late night conversations they had while relaxing on the couch. She wanted the person she became when he dragged her into playing with him and his daughter. She wanted his open heart when it came to his daughter, and if she was honest, when it came to Kate herself.

She just…she wanted him.

Castle made a small sound of frustration and pushed off from her desk when she stayed silent for too long. "Look, forget it. I know you're busy with this case, and you have things to do. Just…just forget it."

Her hand reached out for him before she gave it permission. But in this one instance, she was glad her body reacted faster than her mind did.

Castle glanced down at where she'd grabbed a fistful of his jacket and turned wide eyes on her. "Beckett?"

She took a deep breath and jumped. "It's not that I don't want to be there, Castle."

His eyes softened and he gave her a small smile. "It's fine, Beckett. I shouldn't have pushed."

Oh man, there he went again, being all considerate and shit, but what he didn't understand—hell, what she hadn't understood until just this very moment—was that she needed him to push. Just a little.

"I can't promise anything right now, especially with this case going on, but," she paused, making sure she had his attention before deliberately saying, "I'll try."

By the brilliant grin that lit up his face, Castle understood.

He straightened his jacket, and with a jaunty little wave, he set off for the elevator. "Remember to call me when you go check out that bus locker!" he tossed over his shoulder.

What a jerk.

She couldn't stop smiling.

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A/N: Also, check out my new piece, Keyser Söze! Not getting much love for that one. :P

Thanks for reading!