Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

October 25

All that work for nothing, Beckett thought with a little frustration.

She'd spent far too long in the car outside, psyching herself up for her talk with Castle, but there he lies, asleep again. She'd returned from lunch to news that he'd regained consciousness after Cole's unique brand of interrogation and was, blessedly, lucid enough to give a statement. Rather than wait at the precinct to read his statement, she opted to go straight to the hospital to speak with him. Yet while he may no longer be insensate, giving his statement must've been taxing as he'd fallen back into a heavy sleep.

Still, there was no reason for her to leave. Gates had given her permission to be here and Ryan and Espo were working with Jeffers and Hansen in an attempt to predict what Cole might be doing. It's a fool's errand – trying to predict the actions of a psychopath in mid-meltdown, one who himself was trying to predict where the protective measures of an inventive author might've hidden his family.

Beckett picked up Castle's medical chart and flipped the pages, not really understanding the notations. Still, she used her phone to take pictures of the pages, not to send to Lanie but instead as a safety measure. Too often evidence in their cases seems to disappear, and as this case involved a rogue NSA asset, she assumed that there would be little left once the feds were gone.

Beckett let out an unexpected chuckle as she realized how Castle would revel if he knew of her conspiracy-minded thoughts. Looking up to see if her outburst woke him, she wasn't sure if she was happy or disappointed that he hadn't roused.

Most people look peaceful when at rest. Younger. Not so for Castle, Beckett thought, at least not now. Perhaps once his ladies were safe, once Cole was captured, once their partnership was on firmer ground… maybe then he'd look peaceful in repose. But now he just looked vacant. No coy smile, no roguish smirk. No dancing eyebrows or infuriating leer. He was a blank slate, a state that Beckett found deeply disturbing.

Shaking off her thoughts, Beckett finally sighed and turned to the lone chair in the private room. Giving a light nudge to push it near Castle's bedside, she was surprised to find that it barely moved. Upon inspection she realized the problem – it wasn't just an ugly chair, it was one that folded out into a narrow, lumpy cot, probably used by fathers staying the night after their wives have given birth. With a huff, Beckett bent over and tugged, shifting back to use her slight weight and leverage to help pull the chair.

"I like this version of the story much better," rasped a familiar voice from behind her.

"Castle!" she replied, whipping around. Her relief at seeing a weak smirk on his exhausted face nearly made her laugh. "What story?" she asked as she finally jostled the chair into position before taking a seat and then reaching out to clasp his hand.

"Sleeping Beauty, obviously," he rasped again while feebly gesturing to himself, before looking at the bottle of water on the bedside table, which Beckett cracked open and handed to him without a word.

"Instead of a kiss," Castle explained in a more normal voice before playing with the bed controls to lever himself into a more upright position, "I was awoken when the fair princess shook her derriere in my face."

Blushing as she realized the unintentional show she must've provided in her battle to relocate the chair, Beckett shook her head at his nonsense. It was such a welcome…

That tricky bastard, she admired. Even recently awoken after having his brain scrambled, he was wily enough to provide them a topic of conversation that ignored the angst of their current situation and allowed a little banter to help them reset. Either that, or he was trying to distract her entirely and hoping to avoid the difficult conversation they need to have.

"Castle, I'm sorry," she offered, immediately sober and contrite. "Before we get to what happened and where we go from here, I want to start with that. What Cole told you I was thinking…"

"Beckett," Castle interrupted, his voice less raspy but still squeaky from disuse, "forget about it."

"But, Castle, we need to…"

"Not now," Castle interrupted again, an open look his attempt to keep things cordial while he denies her apology again. "We've got more important to worry about right now. Anyway," he continued quickly, noting that Beckett looked to be preparing another objection, "who's Cole?"

"Oh," Beckett answered, realizing that Castle missed the debrief on their target. "I guess you weren't briefed after giving your statement?"

When Castle replied with a shake of his head that made him flinch in discomfort, Beckett sighed and tried to run down the high points: Cole's identity (and his twist of the knife by choosing 'Dunn' as his name during interrogation), the timing of his activities, and the role he plays for the NSA. Castle, of course, looked like a kid at Christmas as she explained Cole's bizarre skills that Castle had somehow figured out.

"No one, including Cole, has mentioned psychometry," Beckett said in conclusion, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose, "but that seems to be consistent with what Cole can do. I have no idea how you know this stuff and can't believe I'm saying this, but good job, Castle. Your crazy theory actually panned out."

"As usual," he replied glibly, before raising his hands in a defensive posture.

"The bad news is two-fold," she continued while growing somber. "Cole's breaking down. The Feds have some theory about how his gifts are overwhelming him and making him increasingly unstable. He's become erratic and is looking for a challenge. Unfortunately, he seems to think that – given the steps you've taken in hiding them – finding Alexis and Martha might be just the kind of challenge he's looking for."

Beckett wasn't sure how she expected Castle to react to this news. There were many possibilities: anger, obviously; shame, perhaps at involving his family in something dangerous; aggression, perhaps, if he thought he could end the threat to his family; or even resolve, the commitment to see this challenge through to the end. But, instead, she's surprised to see Castle nod his head in simple acceptance.

"We talked for a bit before he put the 'whammy' on me," Castle confessed. "I didn't know about his breakdown, but that's not too surprising considering the way he handled himself. And his search for a 'challenge' is hardly new or surprising."

"You don't know where Alexis and Martha are, do you?" Beckett asked.

"No," Castle answered with a relieved sigh. "That's not how things work. I set up a system with Fitz, a guy who handles some legal things for me…"

"The Tyson Protocols," Beckett interrupted, "I remember that reference from the call you made before Cole's interrogation."

"Yeah. Remember how shaken up I was after Tyson got the drop on Ryan?" Castle asked rhetorically. "I had a hard time sleeping after that. I kind of realized that I make a great soft target, especially for someone like him. So, my attorney and I worked out a plan for what we'd do if we thought he was poking around." Beckett was shocked, both by Castle's straightforward confession of his fears and by the pragmatic steps he'd taken as a result. It was a humbling realization, considering how much effort she'd put into ignoring her own nightmares from the recent past.

"So, the trick is randomization," Castle continued, unaware of or unwilling to comment on Beckett's mental tangent. "I trust Fitz, so we set up a list of things that he would change if I thought Tyson was sniffing around. Anything I'd usually be able to access is off-limits. I'm on my own until Fitz and I can meet again."

"I assume that not knowing where Fitz is or how to reach him is part of your protocols?"

"Of course," Castle nodded. "We'll meet a week from the day I called him. So, another four or five days, I guess, depending on how long I've been asleep."

"Where?" Beckett asked, starting to think about security and setting up a protective detail to ensure that both Castle and Fitz could complete their rendezvous.

"The US Consulate General in Toronto," Castle answered with a smile. "Someone like Tyson might be able to fake ID somewhere else, but at a security-conscious facility staffed by the US military on the other side of passport control?" he scoffed. "I don't think so. And Cole may be good at his job, but I don't think he'd fare any better. Not that it matters."

Beckett had nodded along with his explanation, impressed by his forethought despite the general whiff of paranoia, until his last comment. "What do you mean, 'not that it matters'?"

"Beckett," Castle asked, waiting until she looked at him to continue. "How often have you tried to get a straight, sensible answer out of me?"

"To a regular question?" she clarified. "A conservative answer would be every single time, with limited success," she suggested with a raised brow.

"What makes you think Dunn, er, Cole would have any more luck?"

Beckett scrunched her brow and considered her partner. After realizing his game, she sighed. "Look, Castle, I already admitted you were right. Cole can touch people and…"

"No, not that," Castle interrupted, shaking his head weakly and reminding Beckett that while he was awake, he was not yet recovered. "Let's try it this way – I'm a writer, right? One that's enjoyed some measure of success with my fictional works?"

"Yes, Castle, that's true. But I don't understand what you're trying to tell me."

"To write fiction, you have to…," he trailed off before cocking his head. "Well, when I write fiction," he clarified, "I imagine everything about my characters – their beliefs, their passions, their foibles, everything. Then I build up a whole world they inhabit. It's a work of imagination, of fantasy, and the trick is to accurately describe that world in an interesting way."

"Okay," Beckett allowed, still waiting for Castle to makes his point. "So…"

"So I create worlds and I believe them. If someone peeked into my brain, how would they differentiate between reality and my imagination?"

"You think Cole took a peek and got lost?" she asked with pronounced skepticism.

"I know he did. I've got evidence," Castle answered with a grin. "When he was taunting me about you, he mentioned something that happened to Nikki, not you."

"Castle, that line's been blurred since Heat Wave. People at the precinct still make mistakes like that."

"Not like this," Castle argued. "He couldn't tell the difference between the real precinct life and what I've written about Nikki's precinct. Once I realized that, well, it opened up possibilities."

"What, you created an alternative story about what happened to Martha and Alexis?"

"No, I couldn't do that on the fly. But I managed to stir things up quite a bit," he chuckled weakly but proudly. "I mixed actual memories with plots from my books, whether I've used them yet or not. It was a mess."

"I have no doubt," Beckett smiled at her chance to lend support to at least this aspect of Castle's theory.

"It made him angry," Castle continued, dropping some of the frivolity of the moment. "He refocused and… pushed harder, I guess you'd say. That really hurt," Castle admitted, "but it helped, too."

"How so?"

"He's much more obvious when he pushes hard. You guys didn't know what he was doing and put up no defenses, so he slipped in, stole some secrets, and snuck out. But if he's pushing hard or looking for something specific, you can feel it. I couldn't stop him. But I could shove thoughts in front of him, knowing what he was looking for. And if he happened to accept those thoughts as genuine just because he's used to getting his way, then I guess that's his problem, right?"

Beckett sat and stared at her partner for a long moment. What he was suggesting sounded ridiculous, but no more so that the whole notion of psychometry to begin with. And the possibility of devising a defense on the fly, based on Castle's imagination and Cole's hubris? That was so laughably insane as to be…

"Brilliant. That was brilliant, Castle."

Flushed and obviously shocked at her praise, it took him a few moments to formulate a reply. "No need to sound so surprised."

Not rising to the bait, Beckett asked the obvious follow-up question. "So, what thoughts did you feed him?"

"Well, he might be under the impression that Fitz and I are going to meet tomorrow morning," he answered with a coy smile.

"Dare I ask where?"

"Where did you track me down, that very first time?" he asked with a twinkle of remembrance in his eyes.

"You sent him to the New York Public Library?" she asked, shaking her head.

"It's a prominent memory," he shrugged, embarrassed. "It was easy to pull up and put in front of him. Sure, there might be other folks around, but you've got time to get ready for him, right?"

"No. Absolutely not."

Gates versus Jeffers was shaping up to be the tilt of the century, at least for those with the courage to watch. Ever since Beckett returned to the Precinct with the news that Castle had orchestrated a trap for Cole, the jurisdictional fight between the agents from the NSA and the officers of the NYPD ratcheted higher and higher. Jeffers assumed the NSA would take the lead in retrieving their asset, while Gates steadfastly refused to relinquish control.

"After all," Gates had said, "it's one of ours who was hurt."

"Odd that your missives to 1PP and the mayor's office don't seem to make that point. Ever," Jeffers had replied, not even bothering to smirk when she not only brushed Gates' point aside but also caused more than one of the detectives to glare at the Captain who herself looked disconcerted that her letters of complaint were available to Jeffers, and perhaps others. "In fact, a 'woefully undertrained and undisciplined child' is among the nicer ways you characterized him, I believe?"

"But he's still one of ours," Gates replied frostily, standing her ground.

Ultimately, with great consternation and angst, Beckett brokered a compromise resulting in a joint surveillance effort. Unfortunately, the fragile accord wasn't reached until late afternoon, which meant that the combined team didn't approach 1PP and the mayor's office for until late in the day, efforts being further hampered by the strict sequestration of those involved, lest someone in the know have an unfortunate meeting with Cole. The ensuing arguments and negotiations about whether the Library went well into the night.

Finally, as dawn approached, a motley assortment of NYPD and NSA personnel entered the library through a service dock. Once inside, they immediately began to set up surveillance and map out entry and exit points. The problem with Castle's choice, as noted by Jeffers, was that there was no way to keep civilians out without making it apparent to Cole that something was amiss. As someone who trained him, Jeffers assured all involved that Cole would not be so foolish as to enter under such circumstances. And, of course, they couldn't tell any civilians entering the library that anything was going on, since even a casual bump could convey that information to their target. Fortunately, the Federal remit seems to have trodden over any ethical concerns, though Beckett wonders if the NYPD will be held above reproach should this all go south.

As much as the NYPD might like to complain, though, Jeffers had demonstrated a ruthless efficiency in setting up the operation. With Gates watching close, Jeffers arranged the set-up with an exacting eye for detail. Officers, detectives, or agents were assigned to different places in the library, after a careful inspection of their casual attire. Each person was provided with a story for being in their location and was provided with resources – usually books, magazines, or research materials – that furthered the role camouflage. Finally, with 40 minutes remaining before the library opened its doors to the public, the leadership team made its way to the administrative offices where they could communicate with their staff and keep an eye on surveillance programs.

As much as professional rivalry might encourage her to think otherwise, Beckett recognized competency when she saw it. Jeffers had set the trap at least as effectively as anyone in her group could have managed.

It's too bad that it was all for naught.

"That's it," Jeffers announced a short ten minutes later after receiving a phone call that lasted less than a minute. "We're blown."

"What?" Gates asked in surprise. "The library isn't even open yet!"

"I had Hansen working on the library personnel. Oscar Kemp, the Assistant Director of Facilities Management, didn't show up for his shift this morning."

"And you think Cole got to him?" Beckett follows up, suspecting she knows the answer.

"Standard infiltration protocol," Jeffers replied, her monotone delivery almost faltering to reveal what Beckett might interpret as frustration. "Find someone who knows the layout, security, passageways, communication nodes, and timing of personnel shifts," she explained. "Target someone important but not the head of a department. Those with personal vices – drinking, gambling, anything that puts them in an off-site location or causes furtive behavior is a plus. We covered as many of the library staff as we could last night, but there was no way to cover them all. Kemp was not home last night. Hansen's directing a wellness check now, but I don't expect to find him."

"You think Cole killed him?" Gates asked, looking discomfited that their attempt to snare Cole might've caused an innocent casualty.

"Ordinarily," Jeffers replies after a moment of thought, "no. I would expect to find Kemp sleeping off a bender or awaking in a flophouse. However, considering Cole's increasingly erratic behavior, previous patterns may no longer hold."

"Do you recommend shutting this down?" Beckett asked, growing frustrated that their one, slim lead failed so early.

"No, we will remain," Jeffers replied. "But success is unlikely. Kemp knew nothing of our operation, but he probably knows this library very well. If Cole sees even a single thing amiss, he'll disappear before we even know he was here. So, we wait, maintain the plan, and hope that we got every single detail right."

While the others settled in to wait, Beckett grew concerned about what Cole might be doing instead of visiting the library and excused herself. She drifted to the far corner of the next room where she was afforded some privacy from her colleagues without worrying about being overheard by those visiting the library, whether they were part of the surveillance effort or not. A short call to the duty sergeant at the 12th precinct had her redirected to the guard on Castle's room at the hospital in less than a minute.

"Officer Brooks," Beckett heard after the call was rerouted, taking only a moment to confirm that she didn't know the guard personally.

"This is Detective Beckett," she introduced herself. "I was calling to make sure there've been no attempted visitors for Rick Castle."

"I don't think so," Officer Brooks replied, sounding nervous.

"What do you mean, you don't think so?" Beckett replied, concern about misdirection from Cole increasing.

"Well," the officer quailed, "we can't find Mister Castle. There's no sign of struggle and all of his things are gone. His doctor said he advised Mister Castle to remain when he asked about when he could leave, but we can't find him."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Beckett suspected that her partner's absence was by design, not deceit. "And how long has he been missing?"

"Well," Brooks temporized again, "I noticed at the shift change, about 20 minutes ago. But the last time we're sure of is when a nurse saw him during rounds at 5:30."

"So, he's been on the move as much as four hours," she said, thinking out loud. "Return to your post, whether Castle turns up or not."

"Ma'am?"

"If Castle's on the move, we need to preserve the illusion that he's still in the hospital," she decided, knowing that she'd need Gates' approval. "He's going to need every advantage he can get."

A/N: So, it's been a very long time, for which you have my apologies. I knew work obligations would take me out for the first half of the year. And that was crazy; we did more than a year's worth of work in five months. But I didn't expect what followed. If you read Running Water, you might remember a note about a collapsed ceiling that I needed to fix. It wasn't the most aesthetically pleasingly repair, but it was effective. Hurricane Dorian trashed quite a bit, but the ceiling held! If all goes as planned, I'll finish the last of the hurricane clean-up and repairs tomorrow.

Another surprise, and one that will steal my attention for most of my weekends for the next several months, is that my younger daughter is trying her hand at the NCAA recruiting process. How Aalon got anything written while he was in the midst of this craziness is absolutely beyond me!