October 27th, 2011
140 Franklin St, Tribeca
Thursday, 5:52 am

Tempting fate proved unwise.

Multifarious dreamscapes plagued her periods of REM sleep. A condensed lifetime beamed through her subconscious in bewildering fast-forward—her lifetime, thus far. Faces belonging to the distant past appeared along with more recent ones. Kate wandered through a childhood daycare in Stuytown, the interior of the restaurant she and her father had been in on the night her mother never showed up, and a string of crime scenes that only existed in her memory. The only thing stranger than the dreams themselves was a persistent sense of not being alone.

Kate awoke feeling more exhausted than when she'd gone to bed and with a strong sense of paranoia slithering beneath her skin. A search of the condo confirmed what she already knew: she was alone. Despite no one being present to witness it all, Beckett felt silly as she holstered her weapon and laid it on the counter.

A gripping lethargy was the least of her worries as she went about her morning routine. Events from the previous evening weighed heavily on her mind.

In the middle of brushing her teeth, she looked up at her reflection. The doppelganger's eyes had bruising under them and the lines bordering her mouth, usually absent without emotion to make them apparent, were steadfast engravings. The woman staring back at her looked as tired as she felt. She looked precisely her age, which was doubly depressing after having spent an hour around golden, flawless Tessa.

The detective spit, rinsed, sloshed around a glug of mouthwash and spit again. Regarding her reflection again afterward, she sighed and shook her head.

You're not telepathic, Katie. You're tele-pathetic for even contemplating it.

It was ludicrous.

As she showered, however, memories kept creeping in. Bring me home. The same texture of soundless reception she had experienced with the deceased teen had appeared again and again over the course of yesterday evening, culminating in what she grimly suspected had been a briefly one-sided conversation with Castle in the car. It was surprisingly easy to recall and isolate those instances in retrospect. There was something different about the not-quite-heard communications, like sounds played through a right speaker while everything else played exclusively from the left.

Kate pulled her insurance card from her purse while still dripping in her towel and used her cell phone to make an online appointment with her general practitioner for the following Monday. That was the earliest option available. She also called Dr. Burke's secretary to see if he had an opening before the weekend. A cancellation last night had produced an available slot early that evening. She booked it.

Something's wrong. Really wrong. I can't afford to bury my head in the sand.

In the spirit of caution, Beckett considered calling Captain Gates and reporting her circumstances. She didn't. The exaggeration of being dismissed on medical grounds that she had used to sway Castle last night sat in the forefront of her mind with unsettling potential. It was very unlikely, but possible. She would certainly get herself benched at the Twelfth pending an all-clear.

Maybe I should be benched for a little while.

No. That was hasty. If it absolutely needed to happen, fine. She would give herself the next few days and see what the appointment on Monday revealed. Maybe everything would go back to normal by then.

Sure, Katie. How long does a spontaneous onset of telepathy last? Is it quick and miserable like food poisoning or does it hang around awhile like the flu?

That was enough of that shit. Beckett forced the thoughts aside and went into her bedroom to get ready for work. She set her mind to the case looming ahead. A girl with no name deserved justice and she was damn well going to get it.

12th Precinct, East Village
8:57 AM

Two hours. She enjoyed two hours of normalcy before Castle showed up, and at first that had been a welcome thing. Glancing up and seeing him exiting the elevator with a pair of to-go cups of coffee in-hand had initially shone like a beacon from the comfortingly normal world. All of the pieces were in their proper places.

He was wearing dark grey jeans and black running shoes. A long-sleeved, notched blue t-shirt laid over his well-muscled frame like a worshiper prostrated across temple stone. Amen. A navy pea coat hung like dark curtains opened to the glow of morning light. Rick's preference for high quality menswear always lent an especially visceral appeal to the rare sight of him in more casual fare.

"Good morning, detective."

"Morning. Look at you showing up on time. I'm duly impressed." He bowed to an imaginary audience. She reached for his offering with a subtle smile, glancing up from beneath her lashes at the matching, welcoming curve of his lips.

The brush of their fingers was all it took.

Castle's smile wiped itself away as he set his cup aside on her desk. In the grip of what seemed to her a disarmingly sudden eclipse of parsimonious anger, his hands rose from his sides and came for her. They half circled her throat, not choking, but she damn sure felt gripped as his thumbs found the ledge of her jawline. He manually tilted her up while lowering himself down. Eyes blazing wide, Kate started to issue a muffled squawk of surprise and protest. He was already upon her, satiny cushions of softness and warm-blooded life pressing against her mouth. Dueling aromas of the woodsy bath gel he favored and the richer charge of his cologne swarmed her senses and crackled across her cerebral cortex at the same time he moved against her lips. The intensity of it all peeled her open without conscious thought and he bathed her bottom lip with a silken slide of his tongue. She tasted an explosion of coffee flavored adoration.

It was not a hallucination. Kate knew it wasn't real the whole time it was happening to her. But—holy mama—it was a doozy as imaginings went and it was most certainly not a fantasy she had randomly conjured up. She sat locked in place with the cup in her hands and her head tilted back while the genuine, flesh-and-blood version of her partner slung his coat around the back of the chair by her desk and sank into it.

Holy shit. That's what these coffees actually mean?!

"Beckett?"

She heard herself emit a thready, high-pitched note by way of reply. Her skin was abuzz with sensitivity, warmth that flared from the inside out, and a lingering longing for connection. She could feel the lie of her top against her body, the faint scratch of her bra against her scars and its snug clasp around her breasts.

Richard arched his eyebrows. "Where are we at?"

First base according to you, but with a hit like that you should've taken two.

"Um."

Blue eyes widened and, with a darted look around their immediate area, he leaned closer and hissed, "You're doing it right now, aren't you?"

Beckett flinched with an involuntary flip of her arms, damn near spilling the fresh delivery in her haste to bat away the accusation. "I'm not doing anything. Shuddup."

"You are!" He jolted upright in his chair and frowned. "Wait, you can't be. I wasn't thinking anything at you. Was I?" His eyes widened in alarm. "What'd you see?"

"Nothing," Beckett stated firmly, cradling her coffee against her chest.

"Oh my goodness," he moaned while burying his face in his hands and dropping elbows to his knees. "Yes you did. You totally did."

"Maybe you should think a little quieter," she snapped. And with less detail, and evocativeness, and provocativeness for that matter—

His head came up. "I-I can explain."

Beckett scoffed. "What I saw needs no explanation. It needs an assault charge."

"Oh wow," Castle gusted dazedly with a hand rising to the side of his head. " I spent hours last night telling myself I was imagining things. I can't believe this is real."

"Neither can I," the detective grumbled. "I was doing a great job convincing myself it wasn't until you came along."

"How is this possible?"

"It's not! It—It's probably brain damage. Something is bleeding or swollen and pressing on something else and it's causing an overproduction of mirror neurons or crisscrossed signals. Something like that. I am not," she said in a fierce whisper, "tele-friggin'-pathic. I'm just unusually empathetic and intuitive right now. 'Cause of the brain damage," she concluded lamely.

He crinkled his nose. "That's your theory?"

"Yes," she spouted waspishly. "You got a better one? Wait, no. Go back. What did you say? You weren't 'thinking anything at me'? What's that mean?"

Castle popped upright in his seat and scooted to its edge with an excited rub of his hands. She immediately groaned at his boyish enthusiasm. "Okay. Let me preface this by saying—"

"W-wait. I don't know if I'm ready for this."

"By saying," he pressed on regardless, "that this is all very new and unexpected. My experience is limited to a couple of hours or so. That being said, I think I made some key observations last night."

"Yeah, I noticed you observing," she muttered tiredly.

"Th-that was appreciating," he corrected immediately. "It's also not what I was referring to. You did hear me when I was standing outside of your car, didn't you?"

Beckett groaned with her lips squished against the lid of her coffee. It made her think of the imagined warmth of his mouth. She turned and laid her cheek against it instead, trying to comfort herself with its familiar dark aroma.

"I knew it!"

"Castle, shhh! Jeez!"

He twinged and gave their surroundings another wary appraisal. "Sorry. But I did know. And just before that, in the car, you heard me say 'maybe'."

"Maybe," Beckett grunted and sipped her beverage.

"You did, even though I hadn't said it aloud. Here's the strange part: I didn't actually think about it either. I mean, I did," he backtracked with a bemused rub of his chin, "but not as a line of dialogue within my mind. Do you know what I mean? The way we sometimes think in sentences like we're talking to ourselves?"

Kate sighed and nodded.

"Right. Good. I wasn't doing that. It doesn't seem to work. I tried several times while we were at Lanie's and you showed no reaction." He tilted his head. "Did you hear anything while we were inside? From any of us?"

The detective frowned and shook her head. "Wait, yes." Her chest sank with a gusted exhalation as she massaged her temples. She would have given up her coffee to take back the initial agreement. Maybe just his coffee. "There was one thing. Um. It was while you were, y'know," she widened her eyes meaningfully, "helping me."

"What did you hear?"

"It's not really something I hear."

"What did you perceive?" he corrected with a look that said: Stop stalling.

She stared down at her drink, ran her thumbnail along the groove in its lid. "Exquisite."

Castle's eyebrows lifted with understanding as he leaned back against his seat. "Right. Of course." A melancholy smile emerged and his eyes drifted away from her to one side. "That one wasn't intentional." He moistened his lips and continued at a low rumble, "You didn't pick up anything from Lanie or Tessa?"

She shook her head.

Her partner frowned, nodded. "I thought not, though, I'm a bit flabbergasted by it. My working hypothesis is that you've been doing this in moments of either acute stress or," he paused with an apologetic glance and a small wince, "when it was something really important to you. Something you needed to know."

"Aren't we humble," Beckett observed with her eyes narrowing.

"It's not like that. I mean, I would be very flattered if it were the case. I'd be moved," he added while looking down at his hands. Then he looked back up at her. "But that's not what I'm trying to emphasize here. Given your, ah, history with Tessa, I would've expected you to 'not-hear' something from her too."

Kate sipped at her coffee again and leaned forward to rest her elbows on her desk. "If you were onto something there—humongous if," she stipulated, "I would remind you that I've known those two for nearly half my life. I couldn't tell you what they're thinking at any given time, but I can read their moods by their tones of voice and body language. When I can't intuit much, well, that's okay. I don't need to be a mind-reader to be able to place my trust in them."

Castle received the explanation in silence, features neutral. Walls up.

"You know why it's different with you," she said at a hush.

He smiled in a sudden rush of brilliance before being able to check himself and even when control was quickly seized she could see the joy tugging at the corner of his lips.

"My suggestion tracks so far then, don't you think?"

"I think I have cerebral hemorrhaging."

Her shadow shook his head exasperatedly. "It tracks," he asserted. "We digressed quite a bit there, but going back to my original point—"

"What was that again?"

He arched an eyebrow, rightly suspecting she was being a wiseass. "I was explaining that you don't seem to be keying in on people's inner dialogues. Their organized thoughts, for lack of a better term. I'm not sure why," he puzzled aloud. "Is it because we edit our thoughts as they form and by the time they emerge from our mouths they no longer fully adhere to their origins?" He waved the supposition aside. "Nevermind. The point is: you seem to be able to glimpse beyond the edited version of things. You see the raw, hidden truths."

"I see a man who watches too much sci-fi."

"First of all, there's no such thing as too much sci-fi, Scully. Second of all, uh… Okay, I don't actually have a good theory as to how you came about this. But," he added with a lift of his coffee, "I'm certain it has something to do with that girl in Beth Israel."

Beckett shifted in her chair. "I thought about her too."

"You did?"

"Not as a mystical vessel from which I acquired superpowers," she stipulated irritably. He sunk back against his seat. "Maybe she was exposed to something, like a pathogen or some kind of neurotoxin."

Richard frowned at that and sipped at his coffee. "I don't think so."

"You don't wanna think so, Mulder."

"That's a compliment, you know. It's quite true as well, but I'm also recalling what Dr. Narayan told us about the victim initially displaying strange behavior in the emergency room. She or one of the nurses must have performed some kind of basic detection measures in regards to diseases, viruses, or biological agents."

"Hmm. Wait," she issued softly. "I hit my head at the hospital when I fell down. I hit my head!" She actually stood up amidst the recollection. A few other detectives on the floor looked aside at her with perplexed frowns and cocked eyebrows. She bolted down into her seat. "Oh jeez. I dunno how I forgot. That's gotta be it. I must've injured something that wasn't readily apparent during Lanie's exam."

Castle crossed his arms. "You're way too enthused about the prospect of having brain damage."

"Screw that. Brain damage can be fixed and I know a surgeon with the steadiest hands in the business. I'll take that any day of the week."

"You don't think it's the slightest bit cool that you can," he stopped with another look around the bullpen and instead of concluding aloud gave a few taps of one finger against his temple.

"No," she replied flatly. "It's the opposite of cool. It feels dishonest somehow, like I'm stealing."

Rick considered her for a few beats. "An argument could be made that you inspire the thoughts and sentiments that you've, ah, picked up thus far. One might say they belong to you as much as they do their bearer."

Beckett snorted and shook her head. That was a philosophical booby trap. Under normal circumstances she might be engaged by his attempt at playing the devil's advocate, but presently she leaned in with her voice lowered. "What happens if I start to 'pick up' all of the nasty thoughts that run through other people's minds on a daily basis? What if I unintentionally start ripping secrets out of people's heads? Are you telling me you don't have anything to hide from me? No secrets best left hidden?"

Castle smiled and shrugged. She could hardly believe the casualness of the gesture. "I have secrets, sure, but I'd tell you anything you wanted to know. You're an occasional reader of mine," he said with a blue-eyed wink, "in the literary sense of the term, that is. You already know I have dark thoughts that go beyond everyday pettiness and selfish impulses."

Beckett laid her hands atop one another. "This isn't the plotline for one of your books. You know that I," she paused to consider how to put it, "that I'm deeply beholden to logic and reason. Telepathic abilities do not compute for me. I need a rational explanation." The author's humor had wilted as she spoke. It remained cut adrift from his rugged features as he regarded her. At length, he nodded. "Okay. Now think about it for me. Really think. Is there anything I've picked up on that couldn't be explained by being especially observant?"

The author looked pained before he spoke. "I know what you want to hear. I wish I could give you that, but you haven't only been tuning into close approximations of my mood or emotional state. You put my concerns about our friends into sharper terms than I had allowed myself to consider. You," he hesitated, swallowed. "You ripped my estimation of your body straight out of my heart. Not my head, Kate—my heart."

Oof. Big oof, Katie.

"Maybe there is a medical explanation for this," he continued with guarded optimism. "If you want cold logic, consider the fact that there's still a ton of things we don't understand about our bodies or brains. Who knows what lies in those uncharted regions? Can you imagine trying to explain DNA to someone who lived a few hundred years ago? I know that example is a bit extreme, but I think the point gains some validity when you consider how far we still have to go in our various medical fields."

His answer didn't sit well with her. It didn't do anything more to upset her either. Kate thought that was probably as close to a compromise as they were going to get for the time being. She pushed the thoughts aside and stood with her coffee in-hand.

"I sense you wish to focus on the case," he announced.

"Mm," she grunted. "You must be a mind-reader."

He turned his drink in both hands upon his lap. "One more thing before we do, and I realize it's a bit of a silly question, but: are you okay? Did you sleep at all last night?"

A generous dose of expertly applied make-up had apparently not been expert enough to convince the man who kept a closer eye on her than a hawk did a juicy-looking mouse in a field.

"I slept some. And no, of course I'm not okay. But it's happening, isn't it? Something is. It's maddening but it's real. If you posed this scenario to me yesterday morning, I think part of me would've been sure I'd be too freaked out to handle it. Here it is, though, and the world hasn't stopped spinning. No one's gonna give me the time it would take to come to terms with this. Either I adapt or I get left behind."

Castle smiled faintly. "I understand that from your perspective it doesn't feel like much of a choice is available, but I think you're handling this quite remarkably."

Beckett held up a finger, "Don't."

"What?"

"You know what. Don't…get me going. And keep your hands to yourself," she added with a lick of warmth infusing her cheeks.

Castle pursed his lips but that didn't completely smother a smile. "I shall endeavor to keep my distance. Should we shake on it?"

The detective gave a roll of her eyes and turned away to conceal the amused quivering of her lips. She moved out from around her desk to approach the murder board and Castle rose to stand at her right before it.

"I hate it when they don't have a name," Kate remarked moments later while frowning at the heading penned in her slanted cursive: Jane Doe. A ways beneath it, a broad line in black horizontally divided the available white canvas; a fledgling timeline for their case, which as of yet bore only those details procured from Beth Israel.

Castle grabbed a green marker and shifted farther to the right, laying down in the upper corner with annoyingly elegant strokes: AngelAir Medevac. Below it, the name of the pilot they interviewed: Craig "Not Your Bro" Dufrane.

Beckett batted his shoulder and immediately tensed with realization.

Nothing happened.

"All clear?" Rick surmised with a concerned look aside at her.

"Phew. No whammies." Kate relaxed with a relieved puff and promptly swatted him again, harder, before reaching over to rub out the nickname he had inserted with her thumb. "AngelAir," she mused aloud. "Never heard of 'em."

Her shadow stepped back with his arms crossed at the sternum and let his eyes take in the whole of her early morning work. "It's no accident. They prefer to fly under the radar, so to speak. You see that a lot with resources that're only feasible for the wealthy. It's not hidden, but it's not spoken of too loudly. Depending on the travel time, HEMS services can cost anywhere between twelve and twenty-five thousand dollars."

"Holy shit. Uh, no divine pun intended."

Rick smirked and continued mildly, "AngelAir is part of an aeronautical conglomerate: AirStream Alliance. They're practically a monopoly throughout New England. After about a decade of trying, they finally breached the market in the New York Metropolitan area about six years ago after Chase Orwent passed away. Uh, big business figure," he explained as an aside. "No kinder a man than his rivals but an influential proponent of competitive markets. Since his passing, Alliance has pretty much taken over the local industry. A lot of smaller businesses have been bought up and now fly under their banner. Their only real competitor, if you can call them that with a straight face, is currently renting half of their hangar space and almost a quarter of their helicopter and private jet fleet from Alliance."

"So Dufrane was right. You do know the company."

Castle shot her a swift look that made her arch an eyebrow. Oh? Little bit of heat on that pitch. The author capped the marker and set it down with a rock of his jaw in its set. "Not personally, no, but I'm familiar with the general conceit of companies like that. I've seen first-hand how their so-called dedication to their customers trumps any moral quandaries that get in the way. It's not a story that's relevant now."

"Are you sure about that?" Beckett started to reach for the marker he laid down but hesitated with a glance aside at him and chose the blue one instead.

Richard smirked again. "I'm pretty sure, yes. Also: psychometry is a different discipline than telepathy. You should be safe. Unless you have something to tell me, that is. A secret, perhaps?"

"Oh yeah, a big secret, "she replied glibly. "I don't want your cooties."

Her partner gasped melodramatically. "Maybe I don't want yours…eith…" He trailed off amidst her look of flat disbelief. "Dammit. I don't know which is the greater threat right now, your brain or mine. They both seem to be working against me."

She was too tired and apprehensive to manage a laugh. In its place came a quiet surge of gratitude for the man remaining steadfast at her side throughout all of this strangeness. He knew she might pick up on something uncomfortable about him at any time and not as an act of her own free will. But here you are anyway, as always.

"Uh-oh. Are Mom and Dad fighting?"

They turned at the amused insertion made by Javier as he and Kevin moved into the area. The former was in street clothes, per usual, and the latter wore an off-the-rack navy suit, sans tie, that had been tailored to a custom fit. The pair stopped at their desks to offloaded a black duffle bag and leather briefcase, respectively, and ventured to the murder board. Fist bumps ensued between the men. They exchanged a round of how's-it-going's and summarized their recent conquests and woes with merciful brevity.

With the team assembled, they soon knuckled down and set to work.

Only twenty minutes after having begun, Esposito gave multiple sharp snaps of his fingers to garner the others' attention as he stood up from his desk. "Uh-huh," he said into the receiver. "I understand. Let me know if you hear anything else. Yes, sir." He spelled his surname and added his badge number, then thanked the person on the other end of the line and hung up. "That was a supervisor at St. Francis Hospital in Roslyn. They didn't receive any Jane Does last night and they have no record of any patients being transferred from their facility by medevac."

"Dufrane lied," Beckett said with a glance at her partner.

"It doesn't seem terribly out of character for the man."

"No," she agreed. "But it's weird. He had to know we'd—oh shit." She spun in her chair and started clicking through a folder of commonly used PDF files. She opened up a blank search warrant. "Ryan," she murmured as she worked, "background check. Get us whatever you can get on 'im. Espo, try to get someone from AngelAir on the line."

"They'll just stonewall."

"Tell them Dufrane's being brought up on charges for making a false statement."

"That'll only make them stonewall harder and faster, B."

"Maybe," Beckett murmured as her fingers danced across the keys, "but it'll do a couple other things too: firstly, it'll get them thinking about cutting him loose right off the bat instead of waiting to see how things shake out later, and secondly, I'm betting they're going to get very antsy and start checking their inventory."

"He's a pilot," Castle reminded their peers.

"Oh crap," Ryan said with understanding.

Great. I find the lead and she gets to run with it. Fuckin' typical.

Kate stiffened with her eyes wide. Her fingers froze in their positions above the keys. Oh no. No, no, no. Oh gosh, please. Despite having proposed the concern aloud to her partner only an hour previously, the sudden intrusion of heard-but-not-heard disgruntlement struck her like a two-by-four being slammed across her chest. She had not been serious. Picking up on random pettiness or snide remarks had been a random inclusion. It was the worst thing she could think of at the time.

I feel you, man. Boss-bitch mode engaged.

Simply by the tone of the second statement she knew it was Kevin. It was easy to imagine the unspoken glance or a discreet roll of the eyes that had resulted in the denigrating swell of commiseration. It pierced her heart with unexpected depth. She thought they respected her leadership—respected her.

How often did that happen? How many disparaging looks were exchanged behind her back over the course of a day? How many nights did they blow off steam together and complain about…about whatever failings they perceived in her? Why did they go through the charade of pretending to be her teammates, her friends? Did they think it was funny? Did they laugh together about how naïve she was?

Her hands were trembling.

She had been wrong beforehand. She could not do this. No one could.

"Detective Beckett?"

Kate looked up numbly and saw Captain Gates standing outside her office doorway, smartly dressed in gray slacks and a muted navy blouse. "A moment, please?"

She nodded, unable to muster her voice, and stood sluggishly.

Castle stepped into her path as she started to go, frowning. "Hey. What's wrong? You're as pale as a ghost." She hesitated and his eyebrows lifted. "Did something happen?" he whispered meaningfully. Still the detective found herself at a loss for a reply as if by refusing to put what she had been privy to into words its existence might be denied. The author didn't have her curse of intrusive reading but he was sharp and his imagination was first-rate. He looked from her to their peers. His eyes widened—then narrowed into blades of enmity as his expression darkened.

"Don't," Kate husked in a whisper while grabbing his right forearm. "Please, Rick."

"What did you hear?" he growled with dusky pink splotches of anger appearing in his cheeks.

"Not now. Not here," she concluded wearily and released him to walk past. She could practically feel his gaze on her back as she lifted her chin and advanced to Gates' office. The dark-skinned woman was sitting behind her desk at the computer.

"Come in, detective," Gates said without looking up. "Close the door and have a seat."

Beckett did so. She needed to sit because her legs felt shaky with the realization that had just slammed into her. It kind of bewildered the woman that she was so shocked. The NYPD had always been a boys' club through and through. Kate had steered her way through a veritable ocean of blatant misogyny: crude jokes, filthy come-ons, wandering eyes and, at times, brazenly groping hands.

Javi, Kevin, and I have been together for years though. I thought I'd finally found—

It didn't matter. Except it did. She felt absolutely crushed.

"Beckett?"

She gave herself a mental shake. "I'm sorry, Victoria. What'd you say?" The captain's eyebrows shot towards her hairline. Kate winced. "I mean, sir."

The other woman traded surprise for a shake of her head. It looked suspiciously like amusement. "I asked if you were okay. You look like death."

Beckett sat up straighter in her seat. "No, sir. I'm fine."

"Really," Gates replied. It wasn't a question. The tone put a sinking feeling in the subordinate officer's stomach. "That's interesting, because Nellis just updated his duty roster for next week and he has you off-shift for two hours on Monday."

"Oh," Beckett breathed aloud without meaning to. "Yes, sir. I have a doctor's appointment." Jeez. She knew the personnel in HR tended to be quick on the trigger, but she had expected her appointment to go overlooked until after the fact.

"Our associated doctor offices now run preliminary billing with our insurance company. It helps speed up the process. They copy our people in HR who in turn contact the appropriate officer's CO to make sure there aren't any gaps in manpower."

"Good to know," Kate said with her expression blank. "But I don't need any time off. I scheduled it for midday so I could go on my lunch break."

"Why are you going in the first place? These are details I need to know."

"It's just a routine check-up, sir."

The other woman's dark eyes bored into hers like diamond-tipped drill bits. Soon enough they relaxed and Gates eased back against her seat. "Fine. If you end up needing any extra time to tend to the matter, it's already available."

"Thank you." She started to stand, but paused when her commanding officer waved for her to remain. "Something else, sir?"

"Yes. Your appointment reminded me of something I've been wanting to discuss since your return to duty."

Oh shit. What now?

"How old are you, Beckett?"

Kate arched an eyebrow. "Thirty-two."

"Thirty-three come November, correct?"

"Thank you for the reminder, sir."

Gates lifted a hand to her chin and crooked one finger across her lips. It departed as she continued, "The middle of December will mark the NYPD's fourth-quarter testing schedule this year. I want you to report to One-PP when the time comes for the Sergeant's exam. I understand you took it once already when you advanced to second grade, but another completion will be required for an actual promotion in rank."

Beckett blinked in confusion. "I wasn't trying to advance in rank."

"Yes, I'm aware. I find it somewhat disturbing that my predecessor allowed you to meander this far down the investigative track." She paused as Kate bristled across the desk and lifted an eyebrow. "He didn't make that choice for you."

"Of course not," the detective snapped. "Roy—" She stopped, took a breath, and continued levelly, "With respect, sir, Captain Montgomery was more than just my commander. He was my mentor. Roy gave me every tool he could to do this job well. When I told him I wanted to stay on the investigative track, he respected my decision."

Gates was silent for a short time while studying her. "Good." She nodded. "I'm pleased to hear that. Even so, I'll be expecting you to report to One-PP at the end of the year." The other woman's expression hardened in face of Kate's mouth opening to protest. "I can respect Montgomery's decision to allow you to pursue your passion. That worked out quite well for the precinct too, after all. Your case-closure rate speaks for itself. But your former commander wasn't dealing with losing two of his leading officers to retirement soon. I am. I need capable replacements."

Beckett couldn't help it. She laughed. The best she could do was keep it stifled to a mute shaking of her shoulders.

Gates was not amused. "Explain yourself. Now."

The detective shook her head while the bitter humor advanced inevitably to heat and the blur of threatening tears. She blinked a few times at the ceiling, pushing them back with a cleansing breath. The captain was frowning at her when she returned her attention there, not angered anymore but plainly confused.

"Sorry. Phew. The timing is just too much. Not a minute before you called me through that door, I was given good reason to believe that my attempts at leadership have only managed to alienate me from the people I work with and care about."

Victoria's dark eyes cut to the windows behind Kate, scouring the view of the bullpen beyond the office. "Your team?"

She nodded with an empty smile.

The other woman was silent for a moment, then focused on the detective again. "Does that change the way you plan on doing your job?"

"No," Beckett returned evenly. "It," she paused, swallowing. "It realigns a few personal expectations, that's all. I can work around officers who don't like me so long as they continue to follow my orders. I'm not even mad, to tell you the truth. It's strange to say, but I'm not. Maybe I will be later after all of this all sinks in, but even then… I care about them regardless of what they think about me."

The captain set her lips into a line and leaned forward slightly. "That's why you're sitting here, Beckett. If I had other good people available to take over, I'd let you keep going like this as long as you wanted. I don't. I have plenty of capable investigators, but not enough of them have the right mentality and the maturity to be effective leaders. You do."

"I'll take the test," Beckett agreed with an inward sigh. "I guess it's time. Even assuming I pass the interview and make Segreant, that doesn't mean I won't still be an active homicide investigator, right?"

Gates scrunched her nose. "That's correct, but I don't intend for you to be a Sergeant. I intend for you to advance to one, wait a year until Dupree puts in his twenty-five, and then take the Lieutenant exam."

"Oh." Beckett sat back in her seat in surprise. "Uh."

"It's a position with a lot more personnel management involved," her CO explained, "but you'll still be able to investigate homicides at that rank." She exhaled expansively. "It's when you hit Captain that you get stuck in an office settling petty squabbles and wiping other people's asses."

Beckett smiled somewhat sardonically before she could stop herself.

Gates smiled too, though, if briefly. It faded quickly and she said, "I appreciate your affection towards Montgomery. I didn't know the man personally, but I know he would've wanted the same thing we're discussing now, Kate. The unusual amount of extra courses and training he had you take part in over the years paints a pretty clear picture. He wasn't just grooming you to run down murderers. Think about it, will you?"

Beckett rose to her feet. "I will. Is that all, sir?"

"That is all. Keep me apprised of the results of your medical appointment." The captain stared fixedly at her until Kate nodded. "Good. You're dismissed," she concluded with her attention already shifting back to her computer screen on the desk.

Jeez. What is going on around here? It's one thing after another.

The conversation had been so jarring, Kate had been able to temporarily set aside the ugly, gnawing sense of betrayal that had made a lair for itself in her chest. That feeling clawed freshly to the surface as she strode back into her designated work area.

"Is everything okay?" Javier asked. His tone was calm but concerned.

It sounded genuine to her. Normal. Dammit. What did that mean? Was she a despotic bitch to them or was she a friend? You know nothing is that simple, Katie. It can be both. She puffed out an annoyed sigh and replied, "Yeah, it's fine. Listen, uh, why don't you and Ryan follow up on AngelAir with an on-site interview? This feels like more of a face-to-face situation to me." Kevin looked up in surprise. His partner arched his eyebrows with a similar reaction. "You guys know what we need and how to go about getting it. Stay cool, but light a fire under them," she stressed.

"Yeah, we got it," Esposito said. "What're you two gonna do?"

Richard stepped away from the murder board to stand at her left, no doubt curious about the same thing.

"Castle can finish the background check on Dufrane while I put our warrant through the system. When it's approved, we'll ping his cell and start digging deeper into his finances and personal life. I'm going mobile after that. Maybe we'll check Dufrane's place. Lanie should have results on our Jane Doe sometime after lunch. If Castle and I don't get to the residence before then, I'll forward the address to you guys instead."

The boys were already standing and grabbing their receptive things. "Sounds good," Esposito agreed. "Give us a call if you find anything that'll help with AngelAir."

"Have fun," Richard called in a forlorn tone.

Kevin winked tauntingly back at him as the pair headed to the elevator.

No sooner were they out of sight, the author turned to face her desk with his expression darkening again. "Rewarding them seems a curious tactic for addressing insubordination. Are you going soft on me, Beckett?"

The detective sat back in her seat with a sip of her coffee, eyes still locked on the closed doors of the distant elevator. "It wasn't insubordination. It was a shock," she admitted more softly and cleared her throat before continuing more assuredly, "but there's a difference between what they think and what they do. Plus, that's assuming you trust the shit I 'not-hear' in my head, which I don't." She wished it were that simple. The feeling of betrayal persisted despite her claims. "Outwardly, they've always had my back. Yours too," Beckett reminded him with a stern look. "We have to make that count for something."

Her partner moved to his chair by her desk and sat down. She tensed within from the closer proximity and, though she didn't look at him, was painfully aware of his palm lying upon the desk no more than a foot away. "You don't have to pretend with me. If you want to talk about whatever you heard—whatever you perceived—I'm here."

"I appreciate that, but I'm not pretending. I'm…adjusting."

"You're pretending those adjustments don't hurt."

Beckett sat up straight again with an angry huff. "What would have me do, Castle? Cry about it? Shake my fists at the sky and rail about how unfair it is?" She held up her palm when he started to speak. "Don't. Look, I appreciate the sentiment, okay? I don't need your heart to bleed for me. I need you to focus and get to work."

Part of her waited for and even wished for the backlash. Some dark and mangled aspect of her mind or heart saw the lure of a promotion and her growing closeness with Rick and it railed madly against the promising light. The same self-destructive hurt and rage she had admitted to him last night would rather burn all of it down than watch it wither slowly, inexorably, or shatter abruptly to another round of loss she had no control over.

Beckett could see the clench of her partner's jaw grinding down on the first words that came to mind. She didn't need psychic mumbo-jumbo to sense his anger and resentment. It happened regardless with a pairing of sentences Kate had to use every ounce of willpower not to react to.

I didn't fucking ask to fall in love with you. Part of me hates that it happened.

Good. Me too.

Richard stood and moved away without a word. She didn't look but heard the quiet tread of his sneakers carrying him out of the immediate area. Kate sank against her chair when he was gone and lifted a shaky hand to her forehead. She was all but certain that had not been an intentional broadcasting. It had the texture of something that escaped rather than something proffered willingly. He didn't know.

She wished like hell she didn't.

A/N: Whoops. Posted this chapter to the wrong story at first. Sorry to everyone who expected more in Discreet, though, ironically enough I have a rework of that tale stewing on the back burner in my head presently. Because blackmail is an ugly thing. Isn't it Allie and John? Yes, very ugly. More on that subject when it's relevant. For now, sincere apologies for the tease.

Actually, while I'm on the subject, I've had a few people ask about the status of CotS too. That one is trickier and the explanation isn't quick or simple. Lemme just say that it remains on-hold for the time being pending a few things that're beyond my control. I do know where it's going. And it's sequel. If things work out, I look forward to giving that story the ending it deserves.