Chapter 3

Beckett swung out of the precinct in search of lunch, soda, and chocolate, probably in that order. She made it ten yards, before Castle caught up to her.

"Buy you lunch?" he asked.

"N" – she began, as he slid his hand through her shoulder, and somehow it stopped the words in her throat. "Don't do that."

"Why not?" Castle's eyes glinted.

"I" –

"Don't say you don't like it. It's naughty to tell lies."

"What?"

"You're blushing. Just a little. It's cute. And you're peeking through your eyelashes at me. Just like you did the other day when you told me I had no idea."

"I did not."

"Did so. It was adorable, and so hot. And you knew it. You left me all worked up and sashayed off, swinging your hips." He slid his fingers through her shoulder again, and this time – third time was always the charm – he could feel her reaction.

Her eyes went wide – and then crackled with fury. "You dare try to set up a link?"

"Link?" he said blankly. It wasn't a link. It was just…a way of knowing how people felt. It wasn't a link: it only worked when he was in contact.

Didn't it?

"Link?" he said again, confused. "That's not a link."

"The hell it isn't." She stopped. "How do you not know what a link is?"

"So what do you think it is?"

"You're trying to make sure you can Find me."

"I can do that anyway. I don't need anything more than a visual of you. I could find you anywhere because I know what you look like and sound like and your supernatural signature. I don't need to touch you to do that. That's what being a Finder is."

"So why the fuck did you just link with me?"

"I didn't."

"Now who's lying?"

"I don't know what you're talking about! All I did was touch you and when I'm touching you I know what you're feeling."

Beckett stared at him. "You don't have a clue, do you?"

"Sure I do. I've never had a link with anyone" –

"Yeah, but you've never tried with another" – her mouth twisted with dislike for the word – "supernatural being before, have you?"

"And you have? You've met others?"

She shook her head. "No. But you're not touching me now and I can feel you. So what the fuck is that if it isn't a link, huh?"

It was Castle's turn to stare. "But," he began, stopped, and took three long steps back from her. "Oh, crap. I didn't expect that." He could still feel her, and what he could feel was anger. "It's never done that before. I've never been able to feel someone without touching them three times, and even then I've never been able to feel them without actually touching them at the time. What have you done?"

"Me? I didn't do anything! You, you supernatural slug, did something! Undo it right now!" Her voice had risen to an ear-bursting screech. That was one thing. The fact that he could feel her desperately holding back a slap that would send him flying was quite another.

He took another two steps backwards. "I'm trying!" he exclaimed. "I don't want this either."

"I just bet you don't. It's going to put a real crimp in your playboy style."

"Yeah. You disapproving over my shoulder's a real downer. Just because it wouldn't be you."

The resulting language turned the air navy-blue around them. Words such as arrogant, jackass, egotistical and smug sonofabitch were prominent. You are totally crazy and I wouldn't go near you if you paid me a million dollars, or similar phrases, were not prominent.

"Take it off," she yelled.

"People are looking," Castle suddenly said. "Can we at least keep it down?"

"Like you care about being the centre of attention." But her voice had dropped at least seventy decibels.

"I don't. I like PR. You don't, but you're going to be getting plenty of it if you don't stop yelling." He didn't expect the next move, which was Beckett taking three steps and then fading out. Well, he'd just see about that. She wasn't going to be able to hide that easily. He stretched out awareness, and found that she was at the food truck. He was about to move in that direction – and then changed his mind. He could still feel her there, and while there was indeed a thin layer of attraction, and a thicker one of sheer desire, it was presently buried under a continental plate's worth of anger, dislike, hurt and…

Well. That was weird. Fright. He hadn't had the impression that anything ever frightened Beckett, and he couldn't see why, if his reputation and relationship with her Captain hadn't frightened him, this link – which he didn't want either, thank you very much: while he would be quite happy to tumble her into bed, he didn't want anything permanent while he was still recovering from his divorce from Gina; no, he didn't, shut up body and hindbrain – certainly did.

Her fright stung. He hadn't meant to do anything like that. He returned to where he had been in his thoughts, which was that he wanted this link gone just as much as she did. More, in fact, because if it didn't go, his chances of a little light dalliance (yes, light, not long-term, absolutely not) with sexy, stubborn, Kate Beckett were around about absolute zero.

On the other hand… Castle's devious, twisty mind rapidly decided that knowing how Beckett was feeling at any given time wouldn't be a bad idea. It would, at least, stop him being mauled, maimed, or shot. And if he could analyse how this strange link worked, he might be able to block Beckett feeling him, which would put him on the front foot for a change.

No sooner had he had the thought, then a prick of conscience told him that he was taking unfair advantage. He squished it. He'd take any advantage he could get. He'd be happy to keep this link, he decided.

So, instead of following Beckett to the food truck, he sent her a quick text informing her that he was going home, to which, unsurprisingly, he received no written response. He could feel her relief, but, more surprisingly, also a tinge of regret for his absence – still overlaid with that thick layer of anger.

Beckett had slid away to avoid being arrested for assaulting Castle. She could feel his confusion, but that didn't help to settle her temper one tiny little bit. Dumb jackass, messing with stuff he clearly didn't understand. She didn't want to sense his feelings, either. She knew what they'd be. Unassuaged lust and smug sureness that she'd succumb. She humphed, startling the food truck server.

As she walked off with her wrap, curiosity began to nibble at her neurons. She rammed it down. It bounced back up, higher. Every time she pushed it down it bounced up again. She munched her lunch, and finally gave up.

What the hell?

Sure, there was a mountain of lust and enough arrogance to dwarf Mount Rushmore…but under that was considerable uncertainty and something that might actually be real feeling. She really hadn't expected that from a page six playboy with more candy on his arm than you'd find in a full-on sweetshop. Still, she didn't want this. She'd mess around later and see if she couldn't block it. There must be some way. And she'd just do some research to see if she couldn't find out what that dumbassed writer had done, too. He wasn't the only one who could research. That'd keep her occupied this evening, and stop her going out and sending the city into conniptions and conflict.

She swung back to the precinct considerably happier. Behind her, a lucky boy got an extra scoop of ice cream, from a storekeeper who had a sudden rush of joyfulness.

Jonas Salter caved like a mud pie in a monsoon when he saw the evidence against him, and was taken off to a cell, which gave Beckett plenty of time during the afternoon to ensure that every evidential item was completely correct, traceable, and firmly justifiable in court by whichever ADA took the case. She left on time, and whisked herself home to begin on her researches.

First up, she, well, reached out. It wasn't something she normally – or ever – did. Normally, she sank in, absorbing and being absorbed by the city around her. Reaching out was entirely alien to her, but it didn't seem to be difficult, which was worrying. Castle's presence was only too easy to find. If she'd had to describe it, she'd have said that it was practically a straight-line expressway between them. She pulled straight back.

In lieu of trying again, she relaxed into the soft melody in a minor key of the city's evening, buoyed up and eased by it – right up until she noticed a gently pulsing counterpoint beat twining delicately through the twilight sounds. It hadn't been there earlier, or perhaps she hadn't noticed it. It melded into the city's song, and added to her sense of relaxation, much as gentle waves in a bath might do, or a soothing, rhythmic massage. Shortly, she didn't notice it any more: it faded into the background.

She returned to researching, dropping into the stream of the city's unconsciousness, plucking on strands that might guide her to an answer. Surely, in the complex history of Manhattan and wider New York, someone had encountered an unwanted, unsought link before – and undone it? She sank deeper, the currents of knowledge older, stronger; but she was in no danger of drowning: Manhattan knew its own spirit, and cradled her safely.

A long, soothing while later, Beckett re-emerged from the stream. She'd found nothing of use, but unlike a lack of results in her day job, her total immersion in the search had rejuvenated her. She'd try again tomorrow, but for now, she'd draw a lovely, hot, scented bath, and luxuriate. Come to think of it, she was off shift for the next two days, so she could add a glass of wine, a candle scented with the same sandalwood aroma as her bath oil, and a good book. No need to rise early the next morning. She drew the bath, and sighed happily as she slid into the scalding water, loving the heat. All her stress and annoyance had slipped away, and now she was serenely soaking. Perfect.

Eventually, she vacated her bath, dried herself, moisturised with a sandalwood scented moisturiser which she used whenever particularly perfect pampering was required, and settled back down on the couch in her heavy, silky robe with her book. A little concentration showed her that the new beat within the city sounds was still present, strong and steady. It was odd, she thought, that it reminded her of the beat of her own heart, subsumed within the city noise.

Oh, no. No no no no no. Surely not?

There was only one option for another heartbeat. There was only one other not-entirely-human in Manhattan.

Well, fuck.

She put it out of her mind, and very carefully ignored how it had helped to relax and ease her. Rick pain-in-the-ass Castle did not relax or ease her in any way at all. He was a complete pest and should be eradicated from her life.

Which, of course, meant that her door was loudly rapped, not three minutes later, by the infuriating man himself. She didn't need to move from the couch to tell that. When she didn't answer the door, her phone beeped with a text.

Beckett, if you don't answer I'll come in anyway. I know you're awake.

That was just plain downright unfair. She stomped to the door, and opened it, scowling blackly. Castle shuddered – and stared at her.

"Why's it feel like a storm's coming? The air's all heavy and ominous." He frowned. "It didn't feel like that till a moment or two ago – right when I showed up. Did you do it?" His face cleared. "You did! How? Can you make it feel happy too? That would be wonderful – you could go around spreading joy, like the Easter Bunny with chocolate or Father Christmas with presents."

Beckett gaped at him. "You what now?"

"Well, if you can make everything around you cross, you can make it joyful."

"You…you…you…"

"Can you?"

"Yes," Beckett admitted.

"Wow wow wow. That's awesome!" He bounced on his toes, overflowing with enthusiasm. "Show me?"

Beckett glared viciously at him. "It's not a toy," she snapped.

"Wowowowow," Castle snipped back. "I know that's just you but I really feel irritated now."

Beckett, wishing that she could produce spontaneous human combustion – right there, right now, right in front of her – pulled her annoyance back.

"Thank you. I don't like that. It feels all scratchy under my skin."

Rather on the back foot at Castle's enthusiasm, she managed a rather feeble glare. "Why are you here?"

He grimaced. "I can't make it stop on my own. I mean, I can't make this link thing go away. I thought if we both tried, maybe together we can undo it."

Beckett's glare upped its wattage to its normal laser intensity. "So you messed up but I have to help fix it?"

"I'd happily keep the link. It's you who wants it gone. So yeah, you do have to help. Stop bitching at me and let's try stuff till it works."

She scowled even more blackly than previously, but said nothing, though unvocalised imprecations swirled in the air around her.

"C'mon. I bet you spent some time thinking about it too, so what did you find?"

"Nothing," she grumped.

"Nor me." Castle made another disgruntled face. "It's dumb. It must have happened before. Someone must know something." He pouted. "And I keep hearing this kind of vaguely musical undertone that isn't really there." He paused, as she paled. "What is it?"

Beckett gritted her teeth. "The lullaby of Broadway," she forced out.

"What?" Castle boggled at her. "That's a musical song – Forty-Second Street."

"It's the sound of the city. I hear it all the time. It's soothing."

"But it's not really there. How can it be – oh. You don't mean a physical actual sound, do you? You mean what you hear as a poliad."

She nodded, not best pleased that Castle had understood so quickly.

"So how come I hear it? I'm a Finder, not a poliad."

"What do you usually sense?" Beckett diverted.

"Usually," Castle emphasised, "emotions, feelings, and heartbeats." He paused for an instant. "But every other time but you, only when I'm actually touching someone."

"You mean you can sense what I'm feeling?"

"Yep."

She cringed. "Let's get rid of this."

Castle's mind had wandered. "How come you wanna know what I sense?" he wondered. "Are you feeling something different from before?" He noticed her twisted expression. "You are, aren't you? What are you feeling?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned somehow inward, and from inward, reached out. Almost instantly, he snapped back into reality. "What's that between us?" he squawked. "It looks like a bridge."

"Don't be dumb, it's a road," Beckett snapped – and snapped her mouth shut too late.

"So you see it too?" Castle said slowly. "Well, well. Isn't that interesting? Could you see that sort of thing before?"

She shook her head reluctantly.

"Can you do anything else new? Or feel it?" he added, with a cynical lift of an eyebrow.

Beckett clamped her lips shut.

"So you do, you just won't tell me. Which means," he said with a lazy grin, "that you can sense me too, and probably hear a heartbeat." Her flaring colour told him he was right. "You should check my pulse, to find out if it's mine." His lazy grin turned sleepy. "I could take yours, to see if that's what I'm hearing."

To his considerable interest, Beckett's feelings flipped from annoyed concealment to annoyance cut with worry and a noticeable tinge of desire. He didn't understand the worry, but he surely understood desire. His own tried to leap up, and was sternly batted down again. Then he had a naughty little thought, and let his desire back up. Beckett's blush reappeared, and her lashes swept down to hide her eyes. So, Castle thought, she was, um, tuned in. Her desire had risen somewhat, too. He left it at that. If she'd truly loathed him, there would be no desire to rouse. Therefore, Detective Beckett was hiding it, and that meant that it could be found.

But not by nefariously provocative means. He wasn't going to force his feelings on to her, to swamp her own. He'd simply…let her get there, without adding any supernatural surprises. Which did not, however, preclude him from flirting without supernatural additions.

He regarded her closely. She was wearing the same silky robe as the last time he'd visited, though on that occasion he'd been far more interested in her supernatural abilities than her super-sexy attire. It might cover everything, but it was infinitely touchable, and Castle was a man who could barely resist touching anything, let alone silky robes covering sexy Becketts. He let his eyes swoop over her, and followed up with a slow perusal of every inch.

"Are we going to try to remove this or what?" Beckett griped. "I didn't ask you here and I'd like you gone."

"Mean," Castle complained. "There's got to be some reason why it happened with you when it never happened with anyone else before. C'mon. Mystery solving is our business."

"My business," Beckett corrected. "You just shadow me." And get in the way floated between them.

"I write mysteries. I'm good at them too. And I'm useful." He left it at that. Beckett exploding from an excess of scepticism wasn't going to help anyone. "Now can we try to fix this?"

"Yeah." Beckett's mouth twisted. "I'm going to have some coffee. Want some?" The invitation couldn't have been more grudging.

"Yes, please."

Beckett grumped her way to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee, crashing it and mugs on to a tray with creamer and dumping it down on the table by the couch. She poured, only just not splashing. "Creamer there," she grouched.

"Thank you," Castle chirped sunnily. He could sense grouchiness swirling around him, but now that he knew that it was a spill-over from Beckett's own feelings, not his own emotion, he could set it at a distance and keep his own cheerfulness intact. He took a gulp, and grinned. "That's better. Coffee makes everything better."

"Can we just get on?" Beckett carped.

"Okay. You said you couldn't find out anything, and I couldn't, so…maybe if I took your hand we could look at it more closely and see if there's anything?"

"Touching got you into this mess, and you want to do more of it?"

"Have you got a better idea? We've tried separately, and it didn't work."

Beckett humphed. Castle was right, not that she would ever say so out loud, but she didn't want to. There were so many ways this could go badly wrong, and the last thing she wanted was a stronger link. On the other hand, the first thing she wanted was the link gone.

"Okay."

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

A small reminder: the final two chapters (4 and 5) are rated M.