Chapter 5

Before Beckett could demonstrate spontaneous combustion through sheer rage to that tiny portion of the bullpen stupid enough to remain within ten feet of her or to annoy her by glancing her way, bumping her murder board, passing her desk or simply breathing, Ryan arrived. He took one look at Beckett and quite clearly considered running, but she summoned him first.

"Forges," she rapped.

Ryan considered the Lanie-Miss-Manners route, but swiftly realised, looking at Beckett's glare, that it wouldn't work. Manners were useless against a primed nuclear missile. "Here," he tried instead, pressing Print and handing Beckett the list.

She slashed a line halfway down. "You start calling the top half. I'll start on the bottom. I want to know if they sell bronze nails and if they do, their customer list." Ryan printed another copy for himself. Beckett was already back at her desk and dialling before the printer had spat out his version.

Peace reigned, of a sort. Possibly the sort of peace that might be found after a virulent plague had eliminated entire populations, but peace. Esposito, arriving with sarcasm on his lips, caught Ryan's warning glance and kept his commentary to himself. Instead, he chased down fishing stores until he thought he'd grow fins in self-defence.

Castle wandered in around ten, went straight to the break room, and concocted coffee for himself and Beckett. He hadn't missed that she hadn't looked up or greeted him, but coffee generally produced a smile.

Coffee didn't produce a smile. It produced a cold-to-icy Thank you followed by a glacial shoulder. Castle sipped his own, perfect, coffee, and pondered. Sadly, his pondering took him down exactly the wrong track. Irritating Beckett yesterday had, he mused, resulted in two scorchingly hot kisses. Therefore, irritating her again today might also result in kisses.

It seemed like a pretty good plan.

Unfortunately, Beckett didn't want to play. Well, not so much didn't want to play as didn't even want to acknowledge his existence. She kept her eyes on her work, and refused to talk. No matter what he said or did, she ignored it. He teased her: she ignored it. He offered coffee: she just about managed a decisive shake of the head, and then to add insult went to the break room and made her own. He flirted: she ignored that.

It wasn't until he asked if she'd found anything and got an acidic, snapped reply of "Nothing yet. Go bother the boys," that he lost his cool. Some faint semblance of intelligence, almost swamped by furious annoyance, told him that exploding with temper in the bullpen was a bad plan. He stalked out, and found a coffee bar in which to soothe his anger with hot caffeine and rich chocolate cake.

It mostly worked. The second cup of coffee took him back to some sense, and he began to think again. Obviously, being irritating wasn't going to work today. (or should that be yet today?) He applied his mind to the recalled-in-every-wonderful-detail kiss in the car, and then to the few moments afterwards. Then he did the same to the second, equally wonderful, kiss.

Then he sat back and stewed on his own stupidity. He'd made a joke out of it, and she'd thought it meant nothing. Well, shit. He'd only been trying not to spill out overheated, desperate words, and he'd gone to his go-to strategy: deflect, distract, joke. Shit, shit, shit. Now what?

Well, first, go back to the bullpen, and second, remember that Beckett had only looked on him with favour when he'd known something useful for her case. Therefore, Rick, be useful on her case. Of course, that assumed she'd allow him to be useful, which wasn't exactly a given. Still, if he didn't go back to the precinct, he wouldn't even have the chance, so he'd better get back.

When he reached Beckett's desk and his chair, he found her normally neat desk bestrewn with paper and scrawls.

"You got something?" he asked.

"Forges selling bronze nails, across the whole country and Canada."

"How many?"

"Ten. That's fine, but there's another thirty forges who could do it as a one-off." She growled at her scrawls. "And all of them want warrants for their customer lists."

"Have any of the thirty sold bronze nails in the last couple of months or so? I mean, people don't buy those kind of nails on the off-chance they might want to re-enact the Crucifixion years later."

"We already thought of that," she said quellingly. "We're asking."

Castle retired, subdued. Beckett wasn't exuding enthusiasm for his theories. "What about harpoons or construction?" he asked after another few minutes and three further unproductive calls to forges. Actually, he was wrong there. Those three calls were elimination, so not unproductive at all. He made a mental note for Nikki that negative evidence was still useful evidence. "Can I help?"

"Go see if Espo needs help with fishing stores."

Translation: go away, Castle. He did: ambling over to Espo. "Can I help?" he asked.

"Yeah. Wanna pretend to be a rich playboy thinking about game fishing?"

"It won't be hard," Castle said happily. "What exactly do you want me to ask?"

"Be naïve and ask about types of harpoon, and what they sell. Get them to send you details of what they stock – claim you wanna research or something. You're always saying you do really detailed research."

"I do!" Castle expostulated. "You have to get it right." He smiled. "I don't think Storm ever killed anyone with a harpoon, but Nikki could always investigate a murder just like this one."

"Whatever, bro. Just get the info without actually lying." Espo passed over a list of fishing stores. "I've checked off the ones I've contacted."

"Okay."

Castle happily worked his way through the list, comfortably secure in the knowledge that he was acting under Esposito's instruction and therefore hadn't fallen into the trap of acting outside of the shield of the NYPD.

He finished his list, and grinned at Espo. "All done. I should get emails from all of them by mid-afternoon."

"How'd you manage that?"

"Best-selling author. They all want to be featured in the next book."

"I guess there's dumbasses everywhere," Espo smirked.

Castle had barely begun a growl of disapproval when his e-mail started to chirp with incoming messages. "They're helpful, which is more than you'd managed," he jabbed back. "Do you want these answers or not?"

"Course I do. Send them on."

Castle did, Espo saved them all down, and then he started to fit them into a spreadsheet which, he told Castle, Ryan would cross-match against other information. He'd be requesting warrants for the lists of customers from every one which had the correct style of harpoon. He began to prepare a base version, into which he could simply copy and paste the different store information.

Castle swiftly became bored with watching Espo type, and ambled back to Beckett's desk, diverting on the way via the break room and the coffee machine. He put the mug down just as Beckett emitted a whoop of success, and barely avoided spilling his own coffee all down his front.

"Watch out!" he squeaked. "You nearly tipped scalding coffee over me! You might have permanently damaged me."

"I doubt it. Your ego's fireproof, never mind coffee-proof."

"Strange as it may seem to you, I wasn't worried about my ego. I was worried about different, hm, assets."

Beckett made a dismissive gesture. "I thought that was a man's ego," she snarked.

"Oh, no. My ego is tiny in comparison to my assets."

Beckett choked.

"My investment advisor is very pleased with their growth," he added. "It's really important to have a well-invested portfolio, penetrating all the significant sectors. Diversification is vital, too. Sometimes certain areas just aren't as responsive as you'd like, and you have to move to another, more exciting, area."

"Why don't you go play with your growing assets, then, and stop bothering me?"

"I'm shadowing you so I can write more books and keep growing my assets," Castle smiled; and carefully didn't say I'm shadowing you because I think I've fallen in love. He hadn't lied. He'd just been strictly partial with the truth. "Anyway, that's irrelevant. Why were you whooping? Did you find a lead?"

Beckett glared, but Montgomery's emergence from his office prevented her giving Castle the (very necessary to her continued coolness and Castle's survival) brush-off. "Yes," she clipped.

"Well? What was it? Did you find the killer?"

"No. But I did get all my warrants for customer lists, so I'm going to serve them all" –

"Oooohhhhh, does that mean road trips?"

"No. I'll get local law enforcement to serve it everywhere I can't drive to in less than an hour."

Castle pouted. He'd hoped for extended road trips or, better yet, trips out of state, where a little well-judged hotel selection would have ensured that he and Beckett would be sharing a suite. Two bedrooms, of course…but two could so very easily become one, especially after a long day and a good dinner. Such a shame that that was out of the window.

While he'd enjoyed his brief reverie, Beckett had tapped at her e-mail until all the warrants were gone, and, just as he'd returned to the mundanity of the bullpen, stood up and slipped her jacket on.

"Where are we going?" he said cheerfully. "Is it lunchtime?"

"I," Beckett said with awful emphasis, "am going out. Alone."

Castle looked at her face, a touch drawn and white, then at her desk, then at the empty strip of pharmaceuticals visible in her half open drawer. "Okay," he said amiably, and stayed sitting down. As she turned away he could see another flash of pain across her face. He concluded that it was either a nasty headache or nasty cramps. Either way, he wasn't wanted or needed, and he didn't care to embarrass himself by pushing into a trip to the pharmacy.

Beckett had both an extremely nasty headache and, unexpectedly, vicious cramps, which she hadn't anticipated for a few more days. If they hadn't been in the middle of data hunting on a hot case, she'd have quietly gone home immediately at end of shift, but she wasn't going to be that lucky, so she'd better hope that the painkillers she was about to buy worked fast.

She bought her painkillers, sloshed them down at max dosage with a bottle of water, and considered the value of a heat pad under her shirt, eventually deciding against it. She trudged back to the precinct, wincing for just as long as nobody could see her, and then gritting her teeth to walk in just as normal.

"Beckett," Espo called. "We got harpoon stores, and I've put in the warrants for all their customer lists. Just waiting for them all to come back."

"I did all the forges. I'm waiting too." She took a careful breath. "What about the building construction? Have we any details on that?"

"Yes," Ryan said. "I found the architects and they're going to send me over a full list of all the contractors and the materials specified in the construction."

"When?"

"They said it would take them a day to get it together."

"And it'll take a day at least to get any info once the warrants are served." Beckett scowled blackly, not mitigated by the pain in her head and stomach. "Are we going to get anything useful today?"

"We might get tox, and the formal autopsy report," Ryan ventured.

"Give Lanie a call and find out, thanks." The thanks didn't change the fact that it was an order.

Ryan shot Beckett a concerned glance. "You okay? You look green."

"I'm fine."

Ryan's face – and Espo's, and Castle's – said I don't believe you. His mouth said, "Okay." He wandered off, called Lanie, and wandered back. "Tox and final autopsy tomorrow."

"She said she'd open him up first today," Beckett complained.

"She did. You didn't let me finish telling you what she said."

Beckett made a get-on-with-it gesture of considerable, irritated impatience.

"He was killed by the harpoon, on the floor. Then he was nailed up where we saw him, re-harpooned, and his stomach sliced open with what she described as likely a fish gutting knife" –

"Makes sense," Castle mused. "All fishing gear."

"And his guts pulled out like we saw them. When Lanie sends over full details of the knife we'll search for places that might sell it – starting with fishing stores."

"What about the drugs he was on?"

"Tox isn't back yet. I said that."

Beckett growled. "Prints or anything useful from CSU?"

"Hassled them while you were out. Nothing yet."

She growled again. "I wanna know who he was. Till I know who, I can't go after people who might hate him. When are they going to run his prints?" she demanded.

"They said they'd get to him by the end of today."

"I guess that's better than nothing," Beckett groused. "What are we supposed to do till then? It's all hurry up and wait. I hate waiting."

"We know," Espo said cynically. "You don't need to tell us."

"I suggest, Detective Beckett, that you take some care of yourself and go home." Montgomery had slid up to the team. "You won't get anything useful tonight, and you're so white you might as well be a bleached skull in the Mojave desert. Go home, get some rest, come back tomorrow."

"But, sir" –

"Nope," Montgomery grinned. "Go home. I'll take it off your accumulated time, but it won't even start to make a dent. You should take some vacation, Beckett." His grin turned evil. "I'm sure Castle could make some suggestions about where you could go."

"We could go ski-ing, or to Hawaii, or" –

"We are not going anywhere. I am going home."

"Can I get a ride?" Castle asked plaintively, with what would have been suicidal stupidity except that Montgomery's beady eye was firmly fixed upon Beckett.

She muttered something which Montgomery chose to take as agreement. "Off you go now," he said to Beckett, "and give Castle his ride home."

"Sir," she said, suppressing another wince from the cramps. Could the damn painkillers just damn well kick in already? As soon as she was home she was wrapping her stomach around a hot water bottle and her forehead around an ice pack, or should that be an ice pack around her forehead? She set her teeth and marched to the elevator.

"Do you want me to drive?" Castle asked as they exited the precinct. "'Cause you look like you're about to faint."

"I don't faint," Beckett tried to snap, but lost all her normal verbal force as her head throbbed.

"You don't drive if you can't see straight, either. Give me the keys." He calmly took them from her hand, unlocked her cruiser, opened the door and gently pushed her into the passenger seat. "I won't tell Montgomery if you don't."

Beckett made a disgruntled noise, but when Castle glanced at her while adjusting the seat and mirrors, her eyes were shut and her arms were tight around her stomach.

"Home," he said. "Uh…where do I park?"

"Wherever you can find a spot."

Castle found a spot on the second go-around, and tidily manoeuvred Beckett's cruiser into it. She didn't say anything. "Home. C'mon, out you get."

Beckett levered herself out, trying very hard not to move her head. It wasn't fair. She only experienced headaches like this once or twice a year, and it was simply unfair that it coincided with one of the equally rare times when cramps more or less incapacitated her. She wanted to go to bed, now, and try not to whimper with the pain until Castle was gone. She wobbled.

Castle's arm came around her shoulders, holding her close. His other hand – oh god, how had he guessed? – flattened gently across her stomach. It was much warmer than hers. "I got you," he murmured. "Let's get you into your apartment. Do you have a hot water bottle?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Ice pack. Headache."

"Both? Okay. Lean on me, and we'll get you inside."

Castle, now dead sure of Beckett's twin aches, walked her slowly into the elevator and then to her apartment, possessed himself of her purse, found her keys, opened up and then walked her straight through to her bedroom. "Shoes off," he instructed, glanced at Beckett and instead lowered her to sitting on her bed, knelt and took them off for her, then removed her gun and holster. "Lie down. Where's your hot water bottle?"

She waved feebly at a drawer in the nightstand. Castle investigated, and found a flowery hot water bottle that didn't fit his personal view of Beckett at all. Then again, neither did the softly pastel bedlinen. He made sure she'd lain down, then went to fix up the hot water bottle. While the kettle was boiling, he found an ice pack in the freezer, parked for later worrying the question of why on earth she would have ice packs – plural, there were three there – in the freezer, and took that through. While he'd been gone, she'd managed to work herself under her covers. Her clothes were on the floor, at which he tried really hard not to look and nearly succeeded.

"I've brought the ice pack," he said quietly, and placed it over her forehead. "Hot water bottle in a moment." He went back and filled it, brought it to her, and, rather than taking the first option of simply whisking the covers back and placing it on her stomach, handed her it. The bottle slowly disappeared. Beckett sighed with some relief. "Better?" he asked.

"Little." Her eyes stayed shut.

Castle took the opportunity to pick up her clothes, shake them out and leave them, folded, on the stool of her vanity. He managed, only just, not to whistle at the bra, which was delicate, lacy, blue – and stunningly sexy. Even his rhinoceros-thick skin balked at the inappropriateness of making suggestive comments when Beckett resembled a corpse, not a fierce detective. Still…if he'd known she wore that – wow.

"Okay," he said. "Do you need anything else?"

"No," she breathed, exhaling pain with the word. "Thanks."

"Till tomorrow," he said, took a step to the bedroom door, then turned back, knelt down, and touched a tiny kiss to her cheek. Then he left, hurriedly, before he could do anything dumb.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

I am having substantial issues with my laptop. I think I've found a workaround to post from my phone, but there may be issues. It will certainly be a little more difficult to reply to everyone - and you know I reply to everyone who accepts replies (and isn't actually abusive, which isn't normal for this group of readers). I apologise for delays and problems in advance, and hope that there won't be any!