Chapter 53 – Monday on the Mind.

Previously - Rick is home and after celebrating with his family, he can begin the long road to recovery. Now if only there weren't interruptions and complications.

Disclaimer – Naturally I don't own Castle or any of the characters. All the other legal stuff applies too.


Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, 5.39 am, Monday

If the severe business suit and tight hair didn't give her away, the stern demeanour and cold eyes could on their own even before he can eyeball the distinctive bulge of a pistol on her hip hidden under, or rather covered by the jacket. She was waiting just a little way back from the gate, close enough to observe everything but far enough distance to maintain separation and privacy from the other regular passengers. There was a medium size business case and compact roller case at her feet.

"Will Sorenson." He didn't bother with his title. The AG's teamdidn't use them and had little respect or care for other people's. He dropped his backpack down at his feet. Just small enough to meet the ever stringent airline regulations (although he could use the badge if he needed to) and give him enough essentials for a week if required. Somehow he didn't expect it to last that long.

"Rachael McCord. But I guess you already knew that." She offers a steady hand which he takes and shakes.

"Yep." They join the tail of the queue and proceed through boarding with no further speaking except out of politeness to the staff.

It is still early so the flight is only half-full and they are situated away from any other passengers, one of the advantages of a centralised booking process for federal government travellers and airlines block reserving seats. Of course it also helps they're going against the tide, flying to New York when most of the travel on a Monday is bringing workers to DC for the week.

In deference to the sensibilities of the crew and passengers they keep their jackets on despite the warm air being pumped into the cabin. It is a short haul to New York so it won't be an issue but freaking out passengers with a display of their weapons could be.

"So what is this?" Sorenson ventures keeping the volume low so that McCord can hear but beyond their immediate seats the words would be lost in the background noise that is the environment of a jet plane cabin. Even so McCord seems to think on matters before responding. Is it the discussion outside of a secure environment, or the subject, or both.

"Follow up to the New York bombing case. We picked up some new information and want to run it by you and see if it tails with anything from your case. The AG doesn't like that the suspect behind it was never identified and arrested."

"So are you going to share your new information?"

"Afraid not. Need to know at this time." Despite the passage of years, he wishes he could roll his eyes just like a certain NYPD detective he once knew. Something he had learnt first-hand what seems like a lifetime ago. He clamps down on the thought, hyper aware that the no-nonsense agent beside him wouldn't appreciate it if she caught him day dreaming.

"Jesus McCord, and people call the FBI supercilious. Your team gives us all a bad reputation for high handedness and makes getting cooperation with the locals problematic at best." He didn't mean to be so blunt but this is not the first time he has worked with the Attorney General's special investigation team – which so isn't their actual name - and he's been treated like a puppy before. His direct dig elicits only a flat business-like response.

"Good thing we don't need any then."

Will Sorenson doesn't say anything more as he passes McCord the first file and she dips her head in acknowledgement before starting to read.

It was Monday, the plane hadn't even left the gate. It could be a long couple of days.


The Loft, 6.17 am.

Kate padded around the kitchen area comfortable in her acquired t-shirt and leggings. She had collected the morning paper from the doorstep but it lay quarantined at one end of the breakfast bar. Rick was still in bed and still asleep thank God. It had been a disturbed night with Rick having at least two episodes of bad dreams, the second of which left him sobbing in her chest. Fortunately he had slept since then his body and mind exhausted. Sometimes his writer's mind was a curse.

She was having a simple breakfast of yogurt and fruit along with tea. She needed Rick to run through the coffee maker a couple more times before she was confident enough that the quality would be worth the effort. She didn't mind it too much, and secretly she thought that maybe a little bit of practise at being coffee or at least caffeine free might be beneficial for some time later – at a least a few years, a ring and a wedding later. But anything more detailed beyond that particular thought was staying locked away for another time and place.

She was enjoying having the place and the space to herself. It was a peaceful contrast with none of the usual bustle and energy that usually passed for life in the Loft. Shaking her head at her good fortune to have a man who offered her everything she could possibly desire (and then some) she once more attacked her breakfast bowl. Another benefit of a no Rick repast was a lighter healthier breakfast. Perhaps she could ease him into at least varying his breakfast diet from the onslaught of carbs and bacon, although she would concede – if pressed – that his bacon was pretty damn good. Dammit that wasn't the image she was expecting to come into her mind.

Martha hadn't come back from her late night social, but Kate found a message on Rick's cell – she had cracked his security code and hadn't yet told him - from Martha stating she was staying overnight with friends, and would be back by early afternoon. Kate appreciated the tactful move by Martha. Rick was expecting the physio to turn up this morning and run through his training program as well as another actual rehab session.

It was bound to be somewhat confronting and Rick was already having difficulty coping. The exercises pushed well beyond comfortable and given the duration usually taxed endurance as well. Hers had. Rick had promised to try and share with her but had drawn the line at his mother and daughter being in proximity. She respected that as did both of his red heads. Hopefully this phase wouldn't last too long but she would be patient and let Rick find his way with her providing the support she had so wrongly denied him the opportunity to provide eighteen months ago.


She had cleared the dishes and tidied the kitchen. Without even checking she knew Rick would sleep a little longer. Despite retiring early both had read and chatted and then talked for an hour and a bit before Rick slipped away drooling only ever so slightly. Even when uninjured Rick could sleep way past her normal hours.

She felt the need to be busy.

To be honest it was one of the last things about them, or rather herself, that worried her. She was always busy with something to occupy her. He was too but he was different and that posed a question that probably could only be answered by actual experience.

She knew there would be moments, or actually hour's possibly even days, in the weeks and months ahead when there wouldn't be a lot or anything specific to do. Kate Beckett didn't do idle well. She could relax and unwind just as easily as the next person, or nearly if she was honest with herself, but that was recuperation after exertion or concentration preferably both.

Entering his office she moves over the hidden cupboard shelving concealed behind the floor to ceiling abstract image that was just a door width wide. The size of a small walk-in robe, the light came on automatically as the painting swung away from the wall revealing a veritable Aladdin's cave of well, mostly junk. Golf clubs, light sabers (mostly broken or at least well used), real swords (she could actually hear Rick's imagined protest at the label of real) and fencing gear, more than one life size Richard Castle cardboard figure leaning into a Derrick Storm figure and worse, her book-sake (was that even a word?) Nikki Heat as ever packing heat sans cloths but only in silhouette thank God.

Reaching up the top shelf on the right she retrieved the black plastic case lurking in the shadows. There wasn't room in the office safe for pistol case provided to her by Taylor Matthews. So the case was here without the lethal contents stored away in his safe.

Exiting the concealed cupboard she moved to the other wall, placing the box on his desk as she passed, she uncovered his safe, and punched the code in. She retrieved the Sig 229, and the five loaded magazines before returning to sit at his desk.

From the bottom draw she retrieved a roll-out plastic mat which she placed over the padded writing surface, and from the pistol box she retrieved the cleaning kit and gun cloth.

His laptop was open with the PDF manual already on the correct page. Looking at the instructions she checked to satisfy herself there was nothing radically different from the other pistols she had broken down and cleaned over the years. She was relieved to see that it was pretty much identical to the Sig 226 she had first used in the NYPD, even sharing the same instruction manual.

Picking up the Sig she hefted the weight, her fingers curling on the grip and her right index nestling on the trigger guard. Of course without a load magazine the weapon felt both too light and unbalanced. She would have to wait until she was on a range to see what it was really like.

Like all good pistol shooters she had the weapon pointed down in a safe direction even though the magazine was ejected and the pistol unloaded. She pulled the slide all the way back to the stop and engaged the slide catch lever locking the slide in the open position.

Again she performed a visual check to confirm that there wasn't a round in the chamber or the magazine well before placing the pistol right-side briefly down on the cloth.

Pushing the takedown lever to the six o' clock position she once again picked the gun up and retracted the slide slightly to disengage the slide catch lever and then allowed the slide to move forward in a controlled fashion and smoothly took the complete slide assembly forward and off the frame. Carefully placing the pistol down on the cloth, she rotated the slide assembly in her hand so she could easily push the recoil spring guide forward slightly and lift to remove the recoil spring and guide from the slide. From there all that remained was to remove the barrel from the slide by pulling upward slightly and to the rear.

This level of disassembly would be sufficient to allow a thorough cleaning after shooting, but of course she hadn't actually shot the pistol yet so it didn't really need cleaning. Nevertheless she inspected the parts carefully. Took the lightly oiled cloth and wiped down the necessary parts carefully assessing with a practised eye and steady rhythm.

These were all familiar and practised moves performed with a simple confidence that spoke of years' of experience.

Growing up she had not had much experience of firearms, certainly never expected to have a career where she carried a gun. Her Dad kept a BB gun and a shotgun at the cabin, and Kate had plinked away at bottles and cans during the summers with the former, only rarely permitted as she got older to use the more powerful shotgun. He had owned a .38 Smith and Wesson revolver for many years and that one summer when she was sixteen he had let her fire off some rounds from it whilst at the cabin but otherwise she had no real experience or familiarity of handguns until she had picked the Glock 17 for the first time at the Academy. Her expertise and accuracy hadn't come easily, and were the result of frequent, sometimes near-excessive repetition and her single minded drive to be the best. The same drive that took her from the bottom fifth percentile on her first assessment at the Academy to the top fifth by the end.

She would need to ask Rick where this other safe was in the Loft. The one mentioned by Tim Matthews. The one that had counterparts at Castle's other residences. Another thing she needed to discuss with Rick. And his team.

As she contemplated that she had completed her automatic re-assembly of the pistol, and started to pack everything away.

Noises from the room next to her announced the rise of Rick Castle. The man definitely wasn't built for stealth, but she had other uses for him that seemed to fit perfectly with his body. Smiling as much for herself as to herself, she efficiently returned the Sig and magazines to the safe, then quickly put the pistol case away in the hidden cupboard and closed it before doing a little sneaking of her own.


"BOOO!"

"AGRGGH!"

She's laughing. Not too hard, not condescending or mocking, but with him or rather because of him. Her laughter, her lighter soul is because of him.

"Fuck Beckett, what you trying to do?" Still laughing especially as in his surprise his usually exact speech stutters, discarding words.

"Big Baby, can I make it up to you?" Teasing a little now.

She laughs into his mouth.

"Meanie!" sneaks out somehow between their lips.

"What's the matter Castle, don't you like surprises?"

She shushes him up properly before moving back when oxygen depletion demanded.

"Good morning."


Richard Castle Enterprises, 8.45 am

"Harry!"

Harry Dove turned at the familiar voice calling his name. Sure enough dressed in business attire was his younger sister. Despite her professional qualifications it was always somewhat of unsettling to see Beatrice in the very clothes she spent her teenage years railing against.

"Hey Sis. How's things."

"I have a problem."

Well that wasn't like the usually totally put-together sibling who had flown the nest at the earliest opportunity.

"Sure come into my office."

No sooner had the door closed than she was unloading.

"Your remember Charlotte?"

"Your hot lesbian roomie from college." He wonders where this is going.

Head shake and roll-eyes. "Yes that Charlotte."

"Well she set me up for a date with her doctor brother." Oh not where he expected.

"And what's so bad about that? From memory he's the one you momentarily considered going straight for when you were in full girl-only mode in college."

"Um yeah, that was him. She's being trying to set us up for years."

"So that's it went okay?" At the look on her face and her animated presence. "Or was it a disaster?"

"Oh it was a good first date. He rides as well." Bike skills were an important criteria for her. She scrubbed her hands through her hair. "Not important."

"Bea?" Only he can get away with calling her that.

"Anyway, you remember Charlotte's surname?"

"Davidson isn't it?"

"Yeah well his name is Joshua Davidson. Josh for short."

"That name's familiar."

"Damn straight it should be."

"Oh fuck – Josh Davidson, former boyfriend of Kate Beckett? The 'Doctor Motorcycle Boy'!?"

"Yeah I ….:wait what was that last thing you called him?"

'Doctor Motorcycle Boy'. It's what Rick called him. I think a few of the other cops did too."

"Kinda fits him." Beatrice finally drops into a chair, although her legs are still moving with nervous energy.

"So what's the problem? Did you want Kate Beckett's permission or something? I'm sure Rick wouldn't mind anyway. Nor would Kate Beckett I'm sure."

"He doesn't know."

"Know what?"

"That my brother works for Richard Castle."

"Oh the Doctor. Guess Richard Castle could possibly be a bit of a sore point for him. Wait does he even know you have a brother?"

"Probably not, and he may well have trouble remembering pretty much anything I told him on Saturday."

"Did you?"

"Shut up. I'm still following the rules. Look I got him drunk when it came out he was previously dating the woman who is now your bosses' girlfriend. Which I only learnt via his reaction to a news bulletin featuring your bosses' girlfriend. Obviously it's something he's not completely over yet."

"So what's the problem aside from him maybe needing some help to forget an ex?"

"I like him."

"Oh I could see how that potentially could be a problem. I take it the sister doesn't know either?"

"God, I hope not. At least I think she doesn't. She knows you're in business administration and that's that. I mean we don't really talk about you. It's not like you ever got along that well."

"Hey I'm easy to know. But I'm not her type. Or any of Lottie's Lesbians to be honest."

"True that. God I forgot about that name."

"Liar! You loved that name originally."

"I did but it wore off, like a few other things. So what do I do Harry?"

"Tell him the truth. That's normally your style anyway."

Her phone pings. "Crap! I need to go. Due in the office for a meeting about an audit."

Well don't be late. Don't want you giving all us CPA's a bad reputation.

"Bite me!"

"I'll pass. Plus I haven't bitten you since I was eleven."

"Yeah and you still owe me for not telling Mom."

As she opens the door to leave his office, he calls out.

"Hey Bea, let me know how it goes."

"Will do Big Brother. Wish me luck." With that she strode out of the office with a swing coming back into her step.


The Loft, 11.44 am.

After the physio session, Rick had wanted to curl up in his bedroom and scream into his pillows. But instead had to face the additional humiliation of having a training plan created. In hindsight they should have done this first.

The assessment from the trainer had been brutally frank. Rick had asked him not to hold back or sugar coat anything. Kate had tried to suggest a less directly truthful assessment if only because when she had insisted on her own version of the same, it had almost totally broken her and set her recovery back a week or more as she spiralled in despair and desolation when hit with the true extent of her own injuries and the journey back.

His lack of core strength was not critical but his general fitness levels, especially aerobic were well down from desirable. He needed to lose weight. His back muscles especially were in poor shape, not aided by the weight he had put on in the last five years. His injuries from the shooting added new dimensions with his ribs still recovering, shortness of breath and extremely limited movement in his right shoulder and arm. All would be worked on over the next several months, but the trainer had made it clear that it was a process that needed to be followed.

Kate hadn't cared about his weight when they had finally crossed the line, she loved the man, all of him. Anyway it wasn't like he was flabby, more just comfortably padded in places. He was still an extremely capable lover and when you added in their emotional connection, sex between them surpassed anything both had previously experienced.

She had listened intently, firing a few questions of her own, and all the time, an idea forming in her head. She would need to speak to Martha and possibly Alexis but maybe Rick's extended rehabilitation program may not be quite so arduous to endure.


A Federal Building, New York

It's a secure room. Well more like a secure air tight box Will Sorenson judges.

He looks up from the printed bank records in front of him. McCord's solo trip to the New York Banking Commission had yielded a bunch of paper (copies) and electronic records. She had passed the latter onto some technicians back in DC and now she and him were trawling through the paper versions.

He was still surprised to have been given anything to do. It was certainly a step up from his previous experience with them. The AG's special team were not renowned for sharing, diplomacy or any of the other niceties required to coexist in the bureaucrats' nirvana that law enforcement in the United States had become. He didn't know whether to be grateful or suspicious. He settled for both.

Tracing his finger along an entry he frowns at the name before him.

"Orantis Solutions?" he ventures

"What about them?"

"They're a small PMC with good connections in DC. It's about the fourth time I've found them in the banking records. They're a private…"

"It's alright Sorenson I know what a PMC is."

Sorenson ignored her and continued. "What I found interesting is that they have Senator William Bracken as a shareholder. Now Bracken has absolutely no military background whatsoever. His only credentials are that he's a Republican. Which doesn't make him unique but private military contractors normally like the military connection to make traversing the Pentagon corridors easier." McCord frowned still not seeing the connection but then as Sorenson was operating in the dark she could hardly blame him.

"During the recent bombing cases we recommended the potential victims increase their security. We even provided recommendations to them. Bracken rejected our suggestion – Taylor Matthews – out of hand, and bought in a team from Orantis."

"I know of Taylor Matthews, we work them on occasion. Slightly prissy and by the book. But very good."

Sorenson laughed.

"You know I'm FBI. Prissy and by-the-book is in our credo."

"I never noticed." Drawled McCord. He actually smiled at that. Maybe McCord wasn't all piss and vinegar.

"Anyway whilst there was no potential breach of conflict laws as the Senator was paying for it all himself, I still find it strange."

"How so? You investigated the security and didn't find anything pertinent to the bombings." McCord is curious.

"Orantis mainly operates overseas. Most PMC's do. They don't usually do domestic work, and they had to call in favours to get some of their team weapons permits for New York and DC. Taylor Matthews and one other firm had teams ready to go. Yet Bracken and at least one other potential target chose Orantis and had to wait for their designated guards to be legally armed.

"Maybe they were 'illegally' armed in the meantime." Sorenson flinches at McCord's dismissal of the possible violation. In his mind too many of his fellow citizens were allowed to legally, or without legal repercussion jaunt around with guns for no real good reason. Often with more firepower than law enforcement agencies. He'd been on the receiving end a couple of times during his career.

"Hardly incriminating on its own. Anything else?" McCord snaps but doesn't shut down the discussion entirely yet.

"Well Orantis Solutions is clean so far as the company goes from what we can tell. However, going back over the last twelve months two of their former employees have turned up as dead suspects in possibly inter-connected crimes in New York but not related to the bombings as far as I know. However, the cases did involve the murders and attempted murder of serving and former members of the NYPD."

"I'm listening."

"I don't have anything else immediately to hand as the details are fairly sparse. The NYPD investigations were thorough but the dead operators were largely ghosts. Even the names were inventions. Lockwood, and Maddox. We now know Maddox was actually Cedric Marks, a former Green Beret with an extensive black ops record. Neither of the two were employed by Orantis at the time, and we couldn't connect their accomplices who were mostly more ghosts or low totem muscle."

"I don't see the connection." McCord is blanking him. So he makes one last effort to engage her interest.

"I know the lead homicide detective whose team covered the cases. In fact it her Captain was one of the fatalities and she was shot – but survived - at his funeral."

"I remember the events but Sorenson remember this is strictly no local involvement. And for the record, we're not looking into Orantis Solutions today. So let's leave the reunions for another time and get through this."

Shaking his head, Sorenson backs off. "Okay, but you can't tell me that this doesn't concern Senator William Bracken of New York. Potential GOP candidate for the next presidential campaign in 2015."

It wasn't a question and McCord didn't answer.

Will wonders whether he should call Kate Beckett. It's been three years, and he hasn't held any hope of rekindling their fractured personal relationship since that last reunion after events from a witness protection mission left him hospitalised. Even more so now that she is confirmed as actually dating Richard Castle. He wonders what took her all those years to resolve with the author, especially as she had every book of his, autographs, posters, even membership of his fan club. Obviously a lot more of a story than the Nikki Heat novels actually told.

"Sorenson you planning on finishing this tonight?" McCord interrupts his thoughts.

"Shaking his head he digs back in. Any idea of calling some old acquaintances and catching up over a beer long disappearing. Perhaps tomorrow. Monday was a wash out.


The Loft, early evening

Martha has answered the door in a flourish and swish of colour that would make Joseph proud if not in desperate need of sunglasses.

"Well Doctor Parish please do come in."

There is even a mini-curtsey cum bow in the routine.

"Good Evening Martha."

Lanie had met up with the grand dame sufficiently frequently to adjust to her use of formal titles or full Christian names although her diplomacy skills, not to mention eyeballs, are somewhat taxed by Martha's attire this evening.

"Hey Lanie." Kate greets her friend from the couch as Lanie enters the living area still gently shaking her head from the antics at the door.

"Hi" A quick scan of the room and then "Where's Rick?"

"Napping. Physio really took it out of him. It's his second one of the afternoon."

"Oh. How's doing?"

"Better. Frustrated. The whole shoulder thing is going to take months to come good. He's banned from using his right hand or arm for more than quick tasks for at least the next three to five weeks. So writing or especially typing is out the window."

"Ouch! He's gonna drive you crazy."

"I might do the same to him. We're going to be together a hell of a lot of the time for the next few months. I'm looking forward to it, but I can't help myself…..if it doesn't concern me a little. What if we do drive each other crazy? The bad kind?"

Oh phish you two will be fine. Look Kate I really came to apologise for yesterday." Kate's remains silent waiting for Lanie to continue.

"I don't know what happened between us. Actually I do. The first time we broke up because I didn't want it to get too serious. Permanently serious." Oh Esposito. That's why she's here. At last!

"Then we fell into this booty call thing, and it was good but we weren't exclusive. I did date a guy but it fell through quickly. He's been seeing other woman." Lanie gazes down at her feet for nearly a minute.

"Then with Rick's shooting….. Javi doesn't deal with this stuff real well. I know he suffered Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after deployment and leaving the military but if seems like he has folded it all up on himself. Then he's seeing this girl. Sorry that's not fair. Woman. Tory, the IT tech at the Precinct. They've been on a few dates, and yes they're having sex."

"Who told you that?" Kate couldn't help herself.

"Javi did." Oh shit. Stupid man.

"When?" She really couldn't stop this. No wonder her and Rick's will they/won't they saga had kept her friends and colleagues so engaged over the years.

"Not long after we finished 'make me forget' sex the night Rick was shot. Not a couple of hours before you called."

"Oh Lanie!"

"All this stuff just came flooding out of him."

"God that sounds a little like Rick without the extensive vocabulary and probable exacting use of syntax."

"Kate, I actually thought it might be a good thing. I certainly learnt a few things. I was cautiously optimistic shall we say. But then he began to close back up so soon after. Aside from work, we hadn't seen each other until yesterday."

"And he had a date." Kate provides.

"I just don't know how to fix us. Or even if I do want to fix us.

"Are we only ever destined to feel the connection in or after extreme moments? I know that was one question you had regarding Writer-Boy and your near death escapades."

"Yeah well we worked that one out eventually."

"You certainly did. But Kate what if we're too broken?"

"I thought that for a long time about myself, and Rick. I look back and I really regret taking as long as I did to overcome my fears and hang ups. I'm not belittling yours Lanie but I had some pretty fucking major ones to overcome. If I can do so can you, but you need an equally committed partner."

"Yeah well that's the real question isn't it? Just how committed is Javier Esposito?"

"You were my cheerleader-in-chief, moral support, shoulder-to-cry-on and so much more. I'll be here for anything you need Lanie."

"If only I knew what I needed or wanted."

"How about we start small. Did you want to stay for dinner?"

"I was only here yesterday."

"Well it's only yesterday's leftovers."

"Another time perhaps."

"Lanie, you don't have to go. Rick and Martha love having you here. You're a friend. They won't judge or even pry, and Rick has a really good wine cellar. In fact I'm pretty sure it is one of the reasons Martha hasn't move out."

"Oh go on you've persuaded me. But no more talk – for now - about that stupid Latino boy."

"Deal. Now tell me red or white?"


The pulsing vibration of her phone drags her from her sleep.

Pissed at being awoken from some decent REM-sleep she still managed a neutral tone as she answered without checking the number. She really was losing it.

"Dunne."

"Clare, its Tim." It takes only seconds for her be sitting upright in the bed, her covers pooled around her lap.

"Sir." They still laughed about it, how she left a Lieutenant Colonel and he a Major but she called him 'sir', the chain of command never fuzzy even outside of the military.

She's alert now and swinging her feet off the bed. She thumbs her phone to speaker and drops it beside her so she can grab a t-shirt and pull it on, finally acknowledging the cool air of her apartment that pebbled her nipples and raised Goosebumps elsewhere. God she was getting soft.

"Things could be about to get nasty in New York. Looks like some very negative press coverage about our newest recruit is about to hit the streets or rather the webpages."

Tim pauses to give his best team leader a chance to get orientated.

"Tim?" Is all the question she needs to ask.

"A couple of affiliated scandal sites are pushing a story that Kate Beckett was responsible for the death of bystander. Keep them safe and her role under wraps."

"Got it." She would hang up but she then thinks the better of it.

"How bad?"

"Someone is leaking official NYPD personal data to some rather unscrupulous journalists. Spun the wrong way it could look really bad. Possible potential for lawsuits." Against their clients. Tim would never have raised it if it was going the other way, that wouldn't be any of Taylor Matthew's business.

She didn't ask how her boss got the early heads up. Wouldn't get an answer anyway.

"And Kate Beckett?"

"Stays on the books. We were always going to use her in the background but this makes it more essential that any role she does perform is out of public sight at least until the coverage dies down."

"Understood. Do they know yet?"

"No. I'm leaving that to his people to do. Rick has a good team there and I don't want to alarm them if this is just a brief media storm." But that's unlikely otherwise it could have waited until morning or not at all.

"What about other ops?"

"I'm chopping two extra teams to you from the mid-west. Be with you COB tomorrow. We're pretty quiet over there. Make use of them." She mentally calculates what she can cover with her additional resources but is quietly confident in the adaptability and professionalism of her team.

"Clare, I think it might be time for some specialist attention for Alexis Castle."

"Roger that. The usual?"

"I think that would be best. I'll let James know you'll call in the morning."

"Right. Anything else Tim?"

"Not that I'm aware of. Please keep us updated. And Clare I know you had a break out West with Sass planned. We'll see what we can do to make sure it that it's not postponed.

"Thanks Tim, I appreciate it but Rick and his family come first."

"Take care Calamity. Out."

With the call terminated she hauls her t-shirt over her head and throws herself back under the covers in a determined effort to regain the deep sleep she had lost. As her head settles into her pillow, the clock takes its final count of the day, and with that Monday was over, and Clare was certain without doubt the shit storm would still be there in the morning. At least it would be Tuesday.


Author's Note

Reviews and feedback most welcome.