I should have updated this a bit sooner but my new kitten has taken to sleeping on my desk, and he has THREE TIMES deleted edits on fanfiction dot net with his adorable yiddle paw, taking several hours' worth of work with him. So blame the bad, bad kitty*
I have this backed up, now :-D

*by that, I mean me. The bad kitty-mom.


TooSoon Chapter 52 - Detour

Now Rick looked confused. "Wait. What?"

"You said you needed time alone, Castle. I understand." (She didn't really.) "I can meet you back in town. It's no pressure," her shrug was listless, more a reverse shrug, everything shrinking down. "Just, whatever you need. I'll stay in a hotel, maybe go visit my dad."

His face was a study in confusion melting into cold panic. He choked, "You're leaving without me?"

"I understand, you need space..."

"NO!" He dropped their bags and she was suddenly enveloped in his arms. "Kate, you absolutely do not understand. I meant I want time alone with you."

Mouth opened in a silent O of shocked comprehension, she gaped at him, then grinned wildly, and whispered, "Oh, thank God!" She clamped his bruised face between her palms...

"Ow!"

"Sorry!"

...and pulled him in for a brief, heartfelt smooch, then she hugged him so tightly something cracked. Although he grunted in pain from the morning's fight with Little Patty, he leaned into her anyway, shaking to his core from something beyond either cold or pain.

"Kate," he breathed. He grunted a little, wheezing, "I love you, so much, but … Uncle!"

Her heart practically exploded in happiness. She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Jeez, we really need to get some sleep." Somewhere between laughing and crying, she pounded a fist lightly against his chest. "You scared the hell out of me."

He nuzzled her hair. "I'm so sorry. Not so good with the word-things today."

"I understand." (She really did.) "Welcome to my inarticulable world."

"You are my word. Beyond worlds." (See what he did there?)

"Then shut up and kiss me, will you?"

But no. Just then, Tiffany came down the stairs with Shaw and Baldwin. She looked like she'd been crying again. Shaw had brought her a gift from her mom – her little purple stuffed bear from childhood, and she clutched it fiercely under one arm. Baldwin held the lurching cat carrier, with Fabio yowling anxiously inside.

Tiffany looked up at Rick and Kate. She looked small, so young, so vulnerable. Rick gave her his best Dad-smile, his best Dad-voice. No monsters under the bed.

She said, "Well, this is it. Jordan's taking me to the hospital."

"You're gonna be all right," he said.

She nodded, sharing the pretense of believing him. "You too."

Kate said, "We'll be in touch. If you need anything..."

Rick agreed. "Anything. Just let us know."

Tiffany's lips pressed together, her brown eyes rimmed with tears. "Thanks," she murmured, "You too." She threw her arms around Rick's waist. He returned her hug, but lightly, letting her go easily when she pulled away, remembering what Beckett had told him about Kayla's panicked reaction to an innocent embrace. Tiffany hugged Kate too, and said, "I owe you both. Big time."

Rick and Kate both blushed, and Shaw said, "Nonsense. Nobody owes anyone anything here. Now let's get you back to your family, okay, Sweetie?"

Shaw and Baldwin helped her into an SUV. Bracketed by a patrol car and a state department vehicle, sirens and lights announced their departure. Kate observed dryly, "They're not messing around."

Rick and Kate got into the last limo. Matt was already splayed out on one seat, fast asleep with his foot up on an armrest. He'd half-lost the sole off one shoe, it was held together with duct tape, and there was dried blood on it.

Castle looked at it in surprise. "When did that happen?"

Kate said, "I think on the railroad tracks. He'd been too busy to realize it, then when he was sewing Betsy up, he noticed his foot hurt. Just a little. Don't you remember? I asked you for ice."

"Ice." Rick shuddered, trying to shake it off. "Right." Had that really happened? He couldn't picture it, the reason for going to the freezer. The thought of himself being unable to picture anything was nearly as scary as what he was able to picture.

Kate said, "Lucky none of us were seriously hurt."

Matt stirred and opened one eye. "You call that luck?" He closed it again, pulled a crumpled brown baseball cap out of his pocket, covered his face, and went back to sleep.

Ryan, Esposito, and Hunt swung by, in back of the stretch limo headed back to Manhattan. Castle and Beckett grinned and waved as Esposito called out, "See ya back on the chain gang!" The limo swung onto the road and away, followed by Mo and Betsy in a nice comfy SUV to themselves – the plan was for their driver to take both of them to get checked out medically, since Betsy's care had not been professional and Mo was still not 100%. Betsy appeared to be feeling much better, and also have won some kind of argument. Her bandaged head hung out the window, ears flapping in the wind, and she barked merrily as the car receded into the distance, a thin stream of drool trailing along its fender, heading for the local emergency veterinary clinic.

Their limo was the last off the tarmac. They took the main road toward the highway, convoying with the others.

Mindful of Matt's slumber, Kate snuggled against Rick's side and said quietly, "Mind if I lean on you a while?"

"Sure, but you have to keep your seat belt on."

"What are you, a cop?" she snickered, but didn't complain.

"Nope. And for the rest of the day, neither are you. We're tourists."

"I like that. Touring farm country in a limo on the fourth of July."

Rick rummaged through the limo's mini fridge. "Ooh, someone thought ahead."

"And that would be, uh... You, right?" said Kate.

"Well, yeah." It was stocked with water, soda, juices, cheese and crackers, grapes, carrot sticks, a few spinach mini-quiches, and an unopened bottle of overpriced French Dijon mustard. Kate and Rick both snickered.

Before the next stoplight, Rick bade the driver pull up close alongside the limo bound for Manhattan. He rolled the window down, and Esposito grinned back as his own window came down too.

Javi said, "Yo. You got any motherfuckin' gray poop on?"

Rick reached across and handed Javi the mustard. "But of course."

Hunt had a window of his own, and that rolled down as well. Rick and Kate could see Ryan smirking behind him in the background. Hunt held out an identical jar of mustard to his son. "Tastes like victory."

Rick accepted the jar, and in his glance, Kate saw the briefest hint of grief. No victories.

Kate squeezed his arm and called across, "You guys have fun holding down the fort tonight. We're gonna stay the night out here somewhere."

"What, and miss the hail of bullets as drunks fire random shots into the sky?" said Castle.

"That's the fun part!" Ryan said.

Jackson contributed, "I really enjoy picking my way through parade trash and puddles of vomit, myself."

"We're taking the night off. Make do without us," Kate grinned.

"SLACKERS!" hooted Esposito.

"And don't come break our door down while we're sleeping again." Rick joked, because he really did have no filter and sometimes forgot when to zip it.

The light had turned green, and their limo pulled a little ahead. "So long, Suckers!" Kate cried, and rolled the window back up. The response was a flock of three birds being flipped and a round of obscenities and catcalls. Then the other limo peeled off toward the main highway.

"Yeah, you better run," Rick chuckled. "Bunch of 10-year-olds."

"When did they break down the door?" Kate wondered.

Rick's face turned red. "That was, uh, hypothetical."

Matt took his hat off his face and stretched with a moaning yawn and a smack of his lips.

Kate said, "Sorry," and Matt responded with an amiable shrug.

Rick said, "Mornin', Sunshine." He pulled out a bottle of orange juice and handed it to his friend.

"What, no champagne in this car?"

Rick shook his head. "Virgin Mimosa."

"Way to celebrate," Matt said.

Rick replied, "The night is young."

Matt said, "Here's to beer at home in my fridge," and took a swig. "Hey, it's Fourth of July and everything out here's gonna be booked. Have you guys given any thought to where you want to stay tonight, or are you gonna just snuggle in the trunk here?"

"I was thinking maybe you could put us up in the barn," Rick said.

Kate tried to hide a sense of rising alarm. "You mean your storage barn. Right?"

Matt said, "Chloe tells me there's a new litter of kittens up in the hayloft."

"Sounds great," Rick said.

"Or you could sleep in the living room. The dogs love company. And when they fart, the mosquitoes just..." he wiggled his fingers, "magically drop out of the sky."

Rick smiled, thinking of Betsy. "You lie down with dogs, sometimes you get up with squirrels."

"Plus you can share the outhouse with the raccoons," Matt added. "Endless fun..."

Kate pulled out her phone. "I'll start calling around. Maybe there's a last minute cancellation..."

Catching Kate's look of supressed panic, Rick and Matt snickered. Matt said, "Teasing. The farm has a guest house. No worries."

Kate looked across at Matt. "It's your first night back. Will Chloe mind?"

Matt smiled. "She's already invited you for dinner. The girls can't wait to see us."


The limo pulled up in front of Matt's farm house. Chloe and their little daughters, Ella (age three, in pink) and Olivia (age 5, in a disheveled Wild Things wolf suit despite the heat) mobbed Matt.

Chloe welcomed them with a wide smile that glowed against her dark skin. She was curvy and strong, nearly as tall as Kate, and the little girls were a perfect blend of their two parents, with sparkling-green eyes, soft mocha skin, and springy reddish-brown curls. Chloe leaned into the limo and said, "I hope you guys are staying for dinner. We're just having burritos, if that's all right on Fourth of July."

Rick was thrilled, "Oh, thank you. We haven't had Mexican food in... wow, only six days?"

"Six days too long," said Matt. "Hey, isn't Mexican the new American?"

Then the dogs (Niblett and Wojo) were allowed to come out from behind the gate, and they mobbed Matt as well. Castle and Beckett waited, as unobtrusively as possible, then Castle tipped the driver with thanks and they got out. The driver pulled their gear out of the trunk and set it on the cement path to the produce stand, which had closed at 4 p.m, selling out down to the last blueberry.

The dogs were so excited to see him that Nibblet fell over, hyperventilating, on the lawn. Castle threw Wojo's ball a few times, Kate rubbed Niblett's tummy, and then Matt swung Olivia up onto his shoulders like a wolf-monkey hybrid, held the giggling Ella upside down by her bitty little ankles, and they all trooped into the blissfully cool, shady house.

Small wondered whether they had any beets. Did you know beets are a wonderful source of biotin, an essential nutrient for fetal development? Kate didn't.

Kate said, "Do you have any beets? I'm sorry, I know they don't really go with Mexican food..."

Chloe chuckled and pulled some baby beets out of the crisper drawer. "When are you due?"

"Ground hog day."

Rick said, "Hey, we could name him Punxatawny Phil."

Chloe gave him a glare. "You'll scar him for life. Is it a him?"

They spoke at the same time. "Who cares?"

After washing his hands for a surprisingly long time, Rick helped Chloe set up a burrito bar with grilled chicken, rice, beans, cheese, lettuce, and homemade guacamole (Matt and Chloe didn't grow avocados of course, but they had a swap deal going on with a grocer in town). While they all talked in the kitchen, Kate and Matt stayed off their feet, but helped the little girls set the well-scrubbed farmhouse table. Chloe prepped some baby beets for Kate and steamed them, then dressed them simply with a little salt, pepper, and a drizzle of olive oil.

Rick, Kate, and Matt were still a bit glassy-eyed after their adventures, and they couldn't answer a lot of questions, so while eating, they were all content to listen to the two little girls chattering about the new kittens living in the barn.

Matt said, "I have a feeling we'll all be sleeping through the fireworks tonight."

"What?" cried Olivia.

"Well, not us," said Chloe. "Our guests are tired, but we can watch the ones at the high school from your bedroom window."

Olivia seemed fine with that. She and her sister dug in to little dishes of raspberry sorbet.

Rick said, "Any chance Kate and I could borrow your truck for the night? I'd like to take her up to the guest house."

"Up?" Kate said. "So it's not one of the outbuildings here?"

Rick said, "No. It's an old inn on a road that was abandoned after a landslide. They built the new throughway on the other side of the mountain, so no need for it anymore. Matt and I used to..."

"Explore it," Matt interrupted. "When we were big, strapping teenagers and had responsibly finished our farm chores and asked permission."

Rick nodded to the little girls. "Your daddy was a very good boy. And he grew up to be a hero. All because he finished his chores and told his mom what time he'd be home."

Ella looked at her dad with wide eyes. "What's a hero?"

"I'm, uh, one of the good guys."

"That's all you need to know," said Kate.

Chloe continued about the guest house. "It was abandoned for a long time, but the foundation was good. The current owner's a friend. He had it restored. Updated it a bit."

"Sounds kind of romantic," Kate said hopefully.

"It's... rustic," said Chloe. "You'll need a flashlight."

Kate thought, "Great. Spiders." She said, "Sounds like my dad's cabin."

Rick said, "I'm sure it's in better shape than the last time I poked around in it."

Matt nodded. "Sure, but you're welcome to stay here."

Chloe pointed to the keys, on a hook by the kitchen door. "You should go have a look. Besides, last thing you need is the pitter patter of these little chickens in the morning."

Ella laughed. "Niblett snores."


With sunset near, after dinner, Rick and Kate grabbed the pickup truck and swung by his storage barn for a few things they might need at the guest house. He said, "Maybe we should grab some sleeping bags to watch the fireworks. And a book or two. Since there's no electricity. "

Inside, Rick went upstairs by the library and leaned against the railing, surveying his empire of memorabilia. He was uncharacteristically quiet.

She was poking around the boxes. She may have taken something out of one of his boxes of pirate stuff and put it in her pocket when he had his back turned. "There's plenty of room. We could just sleep here."

"No," he said. He looked across the room at the deep-freezer where he stored his vast collection of arcane popsicle flavors. "It's a little too... I dunno. Not conducive for sleeping."

Kate ascended the stairs, curled up in the gorgeously-ugly cow chair, and said, "So. We need to talk."

"Yeah," he said. He cleared his throat, and from the set of his shoulders, Kate's heart sank.

"What is it, Castle?" Her voice was low and shaky, even though they were alone.

"I've been thinking."

She refrained from making a snappy quip. "That's usually a good thing, right?"

"I can't do it anymore."

Her face went white. "Do what?"

"I... I won't be able to follow you at the Twelfth anymore."

Breath left her, almost as hard as if she'd been punched. Her hands twisted together, and she stared in alarm. When he turned, their emotions mirrored: anger, fear, regret, sadness, confusion.

She thought "Oh, God, no." But aloud, she rasped, "Why?"

His voice shook, avoiding the question, rambling on the practicalities. "I've already outlined Nikki's last two books. Derek's too. Maybe I'll have Black Pawn hold a contest, see if I can get a ghost writer to handle the details."

Her eyes went wide. "All right. It's not like you haven't done enough research at the precinct." Tears welled up. She couldn't imagine being there without him, not anymore. But that wasn't his problem. "Maybe it's good to take some time off. Get back to normal. But you should leave your options open."

"Kate. You realize this isn't over? There won't be a 'normal'. We got Tiffany out of Ireland alive, but sooner or later, at least Esposito and I will have to go back. Give Gashkouri some backup, give testimony about what happened. Michael helped kill a lot of people, and there will be wrongful death lawsuits and victim's compensation. There'll be depositions and testimony and appeals, and it's gonna drag on for years, both in criminal and civil courts."

"It's something I kind of take for granted as a cop. I know it's a pain. It can be really intimidating."

"In two countries. At least two, maybe more. But that's not the worst of it." He leveled a pained look at her. "Kate, I'm rich. We're rich, at least for now, and maybe you've just taken that for granted. But once it's established, publicized that 3XK... that Michael was my brother...

"You're not responsible for his actions."

"Not on paper. And the Richard Castle brand has some immunity through the corporation. But listen. It's gonna be guilt by association, by public judgment. I'll definitely lose readers, and I imagine Black Pawn will be within its rights to drop me. I could easily lose every dime I've ever earned, and possibly some of my property as well. I'm so glad you signed that prenup; at least they can't touch your stuff."

"I'm sure the law offers you some protection..."

"What if I don't want to be protected? God, it makes me sick to think how proud I was, when you first arrested me for copycat murders." His eyes started to tear again. "I wrote about murder for fun. What the hell was wrong with me?" He was pacing now, his arms waving. "My whole fucking little empire is built on fantasies of wrongful death. Master of the Macabre, anyone?"

Kate's face was calm. If she was worried at all about going broke, it didn't show. "Castle. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

"Tell that to everyone who..." he shook his head, his voice trailing off. "I should never have become a writer."

"Really? Could you be wallowing any deeper?"

He bristled. "I don't know. You got any mud you can sling my way? You usually have plenty to spare."

She stopped, holding up her palms to him, somewhere between apology and deflecting a blow. "I'm sorry. I'm a highly skilled wallower, so I know it when I see it. It's just not like you."

He sighed, pressing fingers to the bridge of his nose, and realized most of him was aching in one way or another. He said, "It's okay. I'll be fine."

"Fine? Like my kind of fine?" She rolled her eyes, in a peculiar imitation of herself. "Fuck off, I"m Kate Beckett, and I'm fuckin' fine!" She tossed her hair, rolled her shoulders. To top it off, she crossed both her arms and her legs, huffed, and gave him the Withering Glare. "Now, you wanna see my Richard Castle imitation?"

He was tempted to say "You look like the world's sexiest pretzel", but that seemed a bit off-topic. He smiled a tiny bit, despite himself. "No. There's your Oscar, right there."

She unwound herself and took a deep breath, thinking, "Okay. Back on track."

"Remember, once I asked you why you started writing thrillers in the first place. And remember your bullshit answer? The maid's little boy? The body on the beach? And then you smirked at me when I fell for it."

"Last thing I needed was to bring my baggage into the Twelfth Precinct."

"Rick, you brought an entire baggage carousel!"

He snickered, but he folded his arms defensively, knowing she was gonna move in for the kill.

She continued. "But what does Richard Castle, Citizen Consultant, tell me? Oh, yeah. 'There's always a story.' So, Let me guess: This is a story about a prepubescent boy, and a body. How old were you?"

His eyes shifted away from her. "How do you know that?"

"Because whenever you want to hide something, you bullshit me. Also I'm a detective, and you look a little relieved."

"And you look a little smug, Detective."

"Nobody's perfect." She backed off the interrogation, gentling her tone. He couldn't help but admire her technique. At the same time, he wanted to melt into the floor.

"Burke once told me that arrested development can occur when a person experiences a serious trauma, whether physical or emotional. I'm the first to admit that I was a messed-up, damaged 19-year-old for a long, long time..."

"No, Kate..."

"Shush. And I know I've called you a nine-year-old on a sugar rush. Now, God knows you're more of an adult than I ever would have thought possible... but you have unfinished business. An unfinished story. And I don't think you'll be writing it for fun. You'll be writing it as a service."

His lips pressed together, his face starting to crumple. She stopped, pressed her forehead against his, and crossed her lower arms across the back of his neck. "Now, come with me. You've earned a little reward."


She went back down the stairs and started for the freezer. It took him a moment to realize what she was doing, and he was pulverized with a wave of panic. He blinked, and waiting there right behind his closed eyelids, he saw the faces, the cut, stolen, frost-burned faces with drooping, stretched, empty sockets, looking back at him from the freezer in Murphy's basement. Tongues, feet, hands, things that looked like sausages or gutted fish, but weren't. He heard Mephistopheles' cold chuckle in his head, an icy tongue licking down his spine.

It was utterly irrational, but Rick was transfixed with the vision that if Kate opened that door, body parts would come tumbling out in a shower of frost, sliding in their sealed plastic packets, shedding ice like demonic hockey pucks. Meph's voice etched a rime of frost inside Rick's skull. "She'll see them. She'll know everything. You'll never be the same, she'll never be the same, she won't even be able to eat ice cream by the time I'm finished with her."

Compelled by his waking nightmare, Rick rushed after Kate and grabbed her shoulder. "STOP. Kate, stop."

She stared at him, amused. "What is it? Only the boys get popsicles?"

"No, no, no, please, don't open it. Please."

Now her eyes bored into him. "Castle, what's in the freezer?"

Mephistopheles whispered, "You saw it all, and she's just gonna let that memory out, let it tumble all over the floor... the hands, the feet, the..."

"Nothing, I, I dunno, just, can you leave it?" He was shaking, and she wondered whether he was going to be sick. "Come on. Let's go."

"What do you think is in there?" she whispered.

"Nothing. I just don't want to hear it open." His eyes darted to the heavy, industrial door.

She looked over at it, and said, "You went to get ice for..."

He nodded silently, swallowing.

"This didn't happen with the limo fridge or in Chloe's kitchen. What is it... Oh, Rick." Her hand stroked slowly up and down his arms, shoulder to elbow, warm and reassuring. She saw him in her mind's eye, slamming Murphy's industrial freezer door shut, hard. His face a white mask, turning to her. "No ice in there," he'd said.

"What was Murphy storing in his basement?"

"Pieces," he choked, afraid to close his eyes again, staring at her shoes, the grass-stained canvas sneakers she'd worn off the plane. "Identifying pieces. Faces, hands, feet. Gender."

"God," she huffed. "Those assholes."

He actually whimpered then, in such anguish that she dropped the interrogation, stepped into him, and wrapped her arms around his ribs. He stared warily over her shoulder at the stainless-steel popsicle freezer. It seemed to loom over them, reflecting ripples of red and blue and amber light from the jukebox, and their own elongated, distorted reflections, like monstrous sideshow creatures.

She lightened her grip, and he felt her ribcage expand as it filled with air. "You feel me breathing," she said into his shoulder.

"Yeah."

"Follow me." She took another deep breath. "Down to the belly, like in yoga class."

"I hate yoga."

"Doesn't matter, Castle," she said sharply. "Breathe slowly."

"It won't go in." He felt dizzy.

She tilted her head up and breathed again, then sealed her lips gently against his. He felt her breathe into his mouth, warm and slow and steady, as they sometimes did in lovemaking, but it couldn't penetrate his lungs. His heart felt like it was going to jackhammer out of his chest, and he was sweating, but so cold.

Kate's hands went up to his temples, her warm, sure green eyes holding his gaze. "This isn't you, Castle. There's a name for it, and it's not you."

His breath was coming in short, tight gasps. "I think I'm having a heart attack. What..."

"You might be having a panic attack. It's PTSD, maybe."

"No, I'm, jeezus, Kate, this, this..."

"You feel bad now, but I'll stay with you. I've been there, alone in my Dad's cabin. You remember that time I froze up when that car backfired? I just got overloaded. You're overloaded, and it's okay. You're not alone."

"I should be. You should leave me, you don't deserve this. I'm... It's my fault, Kate! I should have figured it out! I should have caught them, stopped them, it's my fault."

"Not your fault. No, no," she was almost crooning as she stroked his hair. "You've done so much. Gone above and beyond. Nobody could have done better."

"I could!" he spat, and pushed her away, pacing, and the look on his face scared her for the second time that day, only this time she was scared for him. "I was fucking blind."

"Not even you can see everything, Rick. But you can see the truth." She strode to the freezer before he could stop her, and tugged it open. A white cloud of condensation swarmed her silhouette, threatening to pull her in. Rick cried out, flew to her. She reached into the freezer, snatched the nearest RazzyPop she could find, and held it up to him as if she were presenting him with a bunch of roses.

"They're popsicles." She spoke calmly, stating a fact, without judgment, not a smirk or a quirk or a shred of pity. He quailed back and looked past her into the freezer. All he could see was a wall of white fog, with faint shadows, little boxes, the dim outline of shelves. She casually closed the door, and the wheezing click of the gasket made him shudder. She said, "Does this form a vacuum?"

He nodded faintly, practicality overriding emotion. He was oddly reminded of the time their car got pushed into the Hudson River. He'd felt so calm, pushing back panic and thinking only of the methods of survival. "It's tough to open for a minute or so."

He felt relieved. She tore at the RazzyPop's clear plastic packet, and looked at it dubiously. It was about 6" long, pinkish-peach, and cylindrical. Decidedly phallic. At any other previous moment in his adult life, he would have entreated her just to let him see her take one lick. He shut his eyes. "Don't."

She looked at him quizzically. "I take it now is not a good time."

He shook his head, she shrugged and tossed it into the utility sink, running warm water over it. They watched it melt away, leaving nothing but the stick.

He told himself silently, "No bones. No meat, no blood, no skin, no hair. A wooden stick."

"See? There it goes."

His face was red with shame, but at least he could breathe. "Jeez. I'm afraid of popsicles."

There was no amusement in her face, no condescension. Only compassion in her voice. "You're afraid of memories. You're afraid of judgment. That's the kind of fear that can keep you out of trouble, or it can paralyze you."

She took his hand and they walked to the freezer. "Open it?"

"Can't."

She opened it, held the door open a little longer, chose an Orange CremAPop. "Close it."

"Can't." He couldn't bring himself to touch it.

"Okay," she said evenly. "Maybe next time."

It took her three more tries, each popsicle unwrapped and melted down the drain.

The last time, he reached in, blindly grabbed a Mango Chili Rocket, and slammed the door in a panic.

"GOOD!" Kate beamed. "Now, can we get out of here?"

Rick nodded. "Yeah, I've got the rest of my life for therapy." They embraced a few more moments. He threw the popsicle remnants away.

She said, "Are you sure you don't want to go home? Or sleep in the living room with Niblett's butt in your face?"

"Let's see if we can catch the fireworks."

She chuckled. "Really? You're dead on your feet!"

"Humor me? Remember, I'm a nine-year-old. In need of distraction."

It was hardly even an eyeroll, more like a lid-shrug. "Sure."


They grabbed a couple of folding lounge chairs, sleeping bags, cushions and pillows, and a plastic box marked "Misc Camping Stuff", just in case. They brought them out to Matt's old Chevy truck, and tossed them into the bed.

He reached across the bench seat to unlock her door, and she stopped and stared at him a moment, in his faded grey T-shirt and jeans, his nose busted up, with a roguish smile in his eyes.

He said, "What."

"I never would have thought to see you behind the wheel of an old pickup," she confessed. "It's unexpectedly hot."

She climbed in and he stole a quick kiss before she could buckle her seat belt. He chuckled. "Matt taught me to drive up here. I took part of a fence out and almost flipped it in an irrigation ditch."

To Kate's surprise, Rick didn't drive back out to the main road; rather he guided the truck up a dirt lane around the back of the barn, between bright green rows of grapevines.

"Are these for wine?"

Rick shook his head. "They're Concord; won't be ripe till August." He drove slowly on the gravel, the sun low in his eyes, and they were both startled as a couple of deer bounded right in front of the truck, then dashed away downhill. Rick smiled grimly. "Well, I'm awake now." The lane went through an orchard of mixed fruit trees. He said, "The ones with the curved leaves are peaches. They're incredible when they're still warm from the sun, but they won't be ripe for a week or two."

She said, "Any apples?"

He nodded. "Further up the slope. They aren't as fussy about temperature." They passed some old, gnarled trees, their branches propped against the weight of still-green fruit.

"Are they Granny Smith or something?"

"Nope. Northern Spy. Heirlooms."

She laughed. "Northern Spy?"

He grinned. "Sometimes I feel them watching me."

At the western edge of the orchard, there was a hedgerow, with a locked iron gate, its posts simple and made of mortared stone, but covered with a century's worth of moss and lichen.

Kate said, "Oh, I remember this. The tractor brought a load of people uphill to the Christmas trees."

Rick nodded, pointing to a fork in the lane heading downhill. "The tree farm is around the flank of the hill at about this elevation; but we're going further up."

He gave Kate the key, and she opened the sturdy, modern padlock; he drove through and she locked it behind the truck, climbing back in. The truck proceeded slowly as the bumpy, partly-paved lane curved gently down into a hollow in the shadow of tall trees: oak, beech, maple, birch, hemlock, hickory, black walnut, a few wild plum trees and volunteer berry bushes, with a stony brook winding through amongst clumps of fern, columbine, foxgloves, and grass. It was prematurely twilight here, and the magical flash of tiny fireflies had already begun.

"I love fireflies," Kate breathed.

Rick nodded. "Anyone who doesn't has to be missing a chunk of their soul."

They'd had this discussion before, and it was pleasant to share their routine. "If only there were a cure," she smirked.

"More fireflies." They crossed a brand-new wooden bridge, then the road continued to wind higher up the hill, where a few pines were interspersed with the hardwoods. Amber shafts of sunlight sliced through the shadows. A few birds were still singing, a squirrel scolded, and the occasional crow cawed.

Kate inhaled deeply, smelling fresh damp earth and wildflowers. "Wow."

They crossed a little bridge as the sun disappeared behind the slump of the mountain, and Rick pulled off a wide spot in the road, backing the truck out of the tree-shadow in a semicircular arc until they could see open sky. They passed through another gateway onto a fairly level, curved gravel drive receding amongst tall trees and a hedge of snowball bushes in flower. Kate was captivated by a sweeping view to the southeast of the Hudson River Valley at dusk.

"I feel like an idiot for saying this again, Castle, but... wow."

His voice overlapped with hers. "Wow! Right? I know!" Looking genuinely delighted, he put his keys in his pocket and got out of the truck.

Kate was entranced by the view.

He said, "It's almost nine. Fireworks in another half-hour or so." He opened the truck's tailgate and sat on it, pulling her in, and she settled her hips in between his legs, with his hands crossed against her chest. "Look, there's the evening star. Make a wish!"

She took his hand, and kissed his fight-scraped knuckles. "I don't need to. I have everything I want, right here."

"Don't be so sure."

"Okay, then. I have a wish. I wish you'd tell me everything. From the beginning."

"Well, when a man and a woman love each other very much..."

"Castle."

"Can't we just pretend we aren't gonna talk about it until we absolutely have to?"

"You know I'm right. You were a kid. Something happened. What?"

He was silent a long moment, and she was afraid he was going to try skimming away over the surface of a joke. But then he said, "I'm not even sure that I didn't imagine it. I was staying with friends in New Hampshire over President's Day weekend. I got lost walking in Hollander's Woods. I found a body."

She spun gently, watched his face carefully, and thought, "You look so lost now, my love." But she just squeezed his hand, then hopped up to sit next to him, her legs swinging off the tailgate. He continued, his voice dark and thoughtful.

"She was a young woman. But I didn't see her at first." He closed his eyes, watching the memory unfold. "There was a man crouching by a log, wearing a black, hooded coat." He grimaced, embarrassed at his own naivete. "I was this huge Star Wars fan. I thought for a second it was someone doing cosplay... I'd read so much and it was so out of context."

"So, not a hoodie."

"No. A long coat, past his knees, with a hood. Like a monk or a Jedi. I must have made a sound because he turned and ran away... I walked up to her and her face..." he winced, and touched his own in a gesture that mimicked a Catholic making the sign of the cross. "He had cut cross marks in her forehead, and her cheeks. He had slit her throat.

"Her eyes?"

"Her eyes were still open. Not glazed yet."

"What color were they?"

"Brown. She had black hair, olive skin; she was dressed in a button-down shirt and jeans, nothing I'd associate with a ritual of any kind, just an ordinary person. She was... she would have been pretty."

"How old?"

"Somewhere between 18 and 25. I reached out to touch her, I thought... I don't know what I thought. Maybe like the Prince in Snow White, maybe I could bring her back. She was so cold."

Kate's warm hands closed over his. "This is the first time I've ever felt you feeling colder than me. I wonder if you're in some kind of shock." All of it an echo of whatever he had seen, just that morning. And perhaps it evoked whatever had started him down the road of 'Murder, Mayhem, and the Macabre'. Such helplessness.

"What was the weather like?"

He looked surprised at the question. "It was an early spring. Unusually early. Thawed, but still chilly. Lots of greenery, lots of mud."

"Was she muddy?"

"Not really, no..."

"And was there blood on his hands?"

"No." His eyes went wide. "She was killed somewhere else."

Kate nodded.

Rick took in a stuttering breath, gaining momentum. "The man... the man in the hood, he sneaked up and grabbed me from behind. Lifted me by the shoulders and pinned me back against a tree trunk. Put a knife to my throat. I couldn't even touch the ground, couldn't fight him... he was wearing a mask."

"A mask? Tell me about it."

"It was white, maybe porcelain, with... with a cross shape on it: black line from top to bottom, another black line over the eyes, but dripping, like he wept oil..."

"Could you see the color of his eyes?"

"His face was shaded, the sun behind him. I could barely focus on him. I was so scared..."

Castle's voice went up in pitch at the end there, almost a squeak, a question. She usually found it funny, but it was nothing near funny now.

"He told me not to tell anyone. That he'd hunt me down and kill me, kill everyone I knew..."

"Oh, Babe." She slipped her right arm behind his waist, and took his left hand with hers. "That's horrible."

He nodded. "I found my way back to my friend's house. I waited, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. About her. Later I called in an anonymous tip. The police went to the woods with cadaver dogs. They found nothing. I thought maybe I'd imagined it, maybe fallen asleep in the woods and dreamed it."

"Not a trace of the body?"

"No. I've revisited the case over and over through the years. They brought dogs in, but they found no trace of human blood. There was no body, nobody missing, no local cult activity, no similar murders. Nothing in the FBI database. Nothing."

Kate tilted her head. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I didn't want to believe it myself."

Her mouth pursed in skepticism. "And you thought I wouldn't believe you."

"A young, over-imaginative boy who spent too much time alone? A perp in a robe and a mask? I know how much you love my wild theories, Beckett."

"Rick. Your wild theories just saved three young women. Your wild theories have helped solve a couple hundred murders and brought justice and answers to families. Your wild theories brought us together, and the one thing they will never do is take us apart."

He looked a little surprised. "So you really do believe me?"

She said, "I do. Maybe not word-for-word..." she held up a staying finger. "A lot of time has passed. But clearly whatever happened? It cut you to the bone."

He was silent, tears starting up in his eyes. He blinked them back.

She said, "This is the story you need to write. All the way to the end. You're never gonna really find peace until you find out what really happened. And we have resources now that you didn't have when you were eleven."

"Such as?"

"Ryan. Esposito. Me. Lanie. Maybe we could bring Betsy out there and see if she notices anything interesting."

"Maybe," he said. "But I don't – it's the last thing I want to pursue right now."

"We can all use a break," she conceded, stroking his cheek, careful not to touch the bruise on his left jaw. "When you're ready."

"What if I'm never ready? Will you think less of me if I leave one murder unsolved?"

She couldn't help hesitating. She might, just a little, and they both knew it. Saving her energy, she lied for now, and he forgave her. "No. But will you?"

"I feel like I'm losing myself. This morning I could see it in your face. I scared you."

She nodded. "And it was necessary."

"No. You should not have been there."

"Neither should you, Castle. It's just the way things worked out. And you put together an amazing team."

He slid down off the tailgate and paced a little. "I know I said I'd have your back no matter what. I meant it. I still mean it but, please, Kate!" His voice was choked, the words fighting through his tight jaw. "I'm done watching you risk yourself over and over again, and I'm done writing about murder just to entertain people. I never want to see another body. I'm sick of death. I never even want to eat another cheeseburger."

Her mouth quirked in a sad little smile. "I wondered why you took a pass on the chicken at dinner."

He nodded. "It's all just been a bit too brutal for my taste." He put a hand over his eyes a moment, then snapped his attention back on her. "I'm gonna need a lot of help with this."

"Always," she said. "Even if I can't be your muse, I can still be your wife. Right?"

"Who says you can't be my muse?"

"Well, no murders. No Twelfth Precinct. No Nikki. No Jameson either, I presume."

"There's so much more to you than any of that." He stepped up to her, and now it was her turn to wrap her legs around his hips. "More to us."

"Really?" This kind of compliment always surprised her a little.

His forehead pressed against hers, then his chest, then belly, then hips rippled in close, aligned with her. "Mmm. You inspire me in so. Many. Ways."

"Good," she said. "Because you're stuck with me. So maybe we can focus on life. Give death a little break."

At that moment, Kate definitely felt a very tiny, localized nudge on her bladder, as if Small had just stomped on it for emphasis: "Damn right about that." But that was impossible. Small was about the size of a large blueberry. Blueberries don't nudge.

Kate sat up straight with a quizzical look on her face. "What the..."

Assuming she was looking behind him at the sky, Rick spun to look over the valley. "UFO?"

Kate laughed. Then low in the twilit sky, some fireworks went off, set by amateurs on the railroad tracks down by the local high school less than a mile away. First bottle rockets, then fountains, then Roman candles. "Snap, crackle, pop," she murmured as the tiny explosions echoed up faintly from the distance.

"Damn rebel teenagers," Castle groused in his best angry-old-man voice. He shook a fist at the valley below. "Get off my lawn!"

"I can imagine you as a rebel teenager now, Castle. Setting off fireworks at Lafferty's farm, pretending to be a rock star when you got caught."

"Somewhat harder to imagine you as an angry old lady with a lawn." He picked her up, the two of them giggling, and then he just carried her, light as a feather, up the gravel drive, shadowed by trees.

"Where are we going?"

"Guest house."

She looked around, but didn't see any lights or structure, just trees and rapidly darkening sky. "What about the fireworks?" (Not that she actually cared, but he'd seemed so excited about it.)

"You've seen one sparkly, earth shattering explosion, you've seen them all."

"That's not what she said," Kate quipped.

"No peeking."

"At what?"

"Sh. I'm echolocating." Rick's steps quieted as he moved carefully in the dark, from gravel to slate pavers, and then to Kate's surprise, in only a few steps they were shadowed by some kind of overhanging structure.

"What's this?"

"Porch," he huffed a little, but was barely out of breath. She suddenly realized he'd spent a lot of time running after a bloodhound over the last few days in Ireland. "Gonna just grab the key. Don't you go anywhere, Mrs. Beckett-Castle-Beckett."

"But I wanna see!"

She sounded so much like a ten-year-old that he laughed. "You will. Patience." He set her down, and fished in his pocket, using his teeny little LED flashlight to find the lock. The door was polished wood, heavy, and rather old-fashioned, but the key was modern.

She had tried to step back and look up at the exterior, but he grabbed her, swept her back up, and kissed her soundly. "Threshold."

"Ohhhh," she said. Tears started up in her eyes. She pushed them down. "But, Castle, you know this is a holdover from the olden days of men stealing brides away from their...

"Well, you can pick me up and carry me out tomorrow, because I don't plan on being able to walk."

"Fair deal," she said. "Now can we go inside?"

He shoved the door open with his shoulder and carried her through, then set her down, and they hugged wordlessly a moment, adjusting their eyes to the deeper darkness. Kate murmured, "Castle, I just realized something."

"What?"

"We forgot to get married. I mean, in the eyes of the law."

"I thought we... Didn't we get married when I... well, we exchanged rings, right?"

"Well, yeah, but you weren't exactly a consenting adult at the time, you were high as a kite."

"Oh, no I wasn't."

"Nieman gave you a speedball. Martha told the hospital I was your wife so I could be in the room with you."

"Oh. Well then. Katherine Houghton Beckett, will you still marry me?"

"Yes."

"Even with the psychopaths and me being afraid of popsicles?"

"Double yes. Now, where's the light switch?"

"Power's out."

"What kind of guest house is this?"

He felt about on a waist-high table by the front door, finding a stick lighter, and used it to spark a safety lantern. "You know. Rustic."

She looked around and gasped. "Oh, my God."

"Let's hope you say that more than once tonight."


We all know "inarticulable" isn't a word, right? And so does Kate. Just yanking chains. ;-)