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.

A/N: In the midst of the hasty posting I forgot one note of relevance in chapter sixteen. Tricky readers recognized the 'Dial M for Mayor' reference at the end of the previous chapter. That's another (brief) dive into canon, except that I've moved it up so that it followed Cops & Robbers. The timing significance is noted below.

"Katie! You're early," Jim Beckett beams at her as he pulls the door open and ushers her inside.

"Sorry, Dad," Beckett replies nervously, casting a quick look around. "Thought it might take me a while to find the photo album I want," she explains inanely as she strides past her father and waits for him to close the door.

"That wasn't a complaint," Jim offers with a crooked smile. "You know I'm always happy to see my girl. And on a work morning – there's a nice way to start the day! Now, which photo album did you say you wanted to borrow?"

Feeling strangely guilty that she's about to rain on his parade, Beckett approaches her father with arms outstretched. As they embrace, Beckett turns her cheek to whisper into her father's ear.

"We need to get out of here," she offers quietly while grasping him tight to dissuade him from objecting aloud, just in case there are any listeners. "One bag, take what's most important to you. We can get clothes later." Feeling horrible about the tension she can feel gripping her father, she offers her last instruction. "Ten minutes – we should be gone in ten minutes."

With that, Beckett cautiously releases her father and takes a step back to get a good look at his face and gauge his reaction.

At first, he looks horribly confused. That morphs quickly into skepticism, which in turn slips to worry. As he opens his mouth to speak, Beckett's wondering if she should clamp a hand over his mouth to protect them both.

"You can't get away that easily," he admonishes, leaving her perplexed until she realizes that her father's a pretty sharp guy and is following her lead in case they're being overheard. "I've got piles and piles of your old things lying around. If you want the photo album," he says sternly while casting her a look of grim determination, "then you've got to take a suitcase with some of your other things that keep cluttering up my place."

"Guess I've got no excuse," Beckett laments while giving her father a thankful look. "There's room at my apartment. But just one bag!" she warns him, serious in the desire to travel light. "My place is small and whatever you pack has to ride around in the trunk of my cruiser until my shift's done."

"You'll be amazed at how much I can squeeze into one bag," her father calls out as he moves towards the closet to retrieve a soft-sided suitcase. "I'll finally get some of my shelf and closet space back."

"More to clean," Beckett offers with a shrug as she watches him pack, all the while fighting the urge to search his place for listening devices or to stride over to the window and twitch the curtains aside to see if anyone's keeping watch on them.

After that, their forced (though surprisingly normal-sounding) banter ebbs as Jim furiously scurries to evaluate which of his possessions are the most important. Beckett feels her heart crack as she watches him work through the hierarchy of his needs. Photos go in first, though he places several on the chair next to her and asks with a pointed finger for her to free them from their frames. Two photo albums are next, after which he leaves the living room and heads toward the bedroom. Realizing it might be inappropriate, Beckett can't help but trail behind and keep him in sight.

Jim heads to his bedside table. From within, he pulls out a letter-sized box. Mementos of her mother, Beckett's certain, averting her gaze to allow her father a modicum of privacy. He's on the move, grabbing some underclothes that he uses to pad the area around the box within the suitcase. More items from the drawer in the bedside table are added to the suitcase with a sigh. Then, Jim looks up and gives his daughter a nod. Apparently, the emotional baggage is packed, now it's time for the more mundane items. Beckett excuses herself and drifts to the kitchen to fix them both some coffee.

"I'll make some coffee," she announces in case anyone's listening. "Then, I'll give you a ride to your office."

Minutes later, they're in Beckett's cruiser and on the move. Beckett holds the route to her father's office as long as possible before diverting to her true destination. Her father, who is quiet but tense, casts her a look but knows better than to say anything. He remains silent even as Beckett pulls into an 'Official Use Only' pullout a block from their destination.

"Hurry," she urges as she launches from the car on the way to grab his suitcase from the trunk. He's still getting out of the cruiser when his daughter pulls aside him and refuses to hand over the suitcase. Leading him at a brisk pace, Beckett enters the flow of pedestrian traffic and is swept down the stairs beneath Madison Square Garden to access the rail lines of Penn Station below.

Glancing quickly at the big board, Beckett cringes. They're cutting things close. Nearly at a trot, she leads her father to a self-service Amtrak kiosk.

"Quick," she urges. "But a ticket for the Acela to Boston. The one that's leaving in ten minutes."

Jim complies, reacting more to his daughter's tone than her instructions. After he's selected the ticket and swiped his credit card, Beckett pulls the card from his grasp and grabs his wallet, too.

"I'll hold onto this," she says as she tucks his wallet into her purse before replacing it with a new one. Then, she grabs the ticket from the kiosk and pulls her father away from the boarding line. Jim's about to ask why they're moving away from the track at which his train is loading when he sees a familiar face approaching them.

"Cuttin' it close, Beckett," Esposito says as he approaches.

"Probably for the best, as long as you make it aboard," she nods as she hands him Jim's ticket. Someday Amtrak might actually check IDs for train travel, but thankfully not yet. "Thanks, Espo."

"No problem. Stay safe," he mumbles as he heads for the boarding line. Beckett, meanwhile, restarts her father with a tug on the arm.

"I'm not going to Boston?" he asks, trying to catch up with what's going on.

"No," Beckett explains, "but we need people to think you are for a little while. I know this is unusual, dad, and I'll explain as soon as we get out of here. Just give me another five minutes."

Jim nods though it's unnecessary, since it's obvious that his daughter is neither listening nor awaiting his consent. As they move through the train station, Jim catches sight of Detective Ryan, who's lounging against the wall, apparently watching to ensure no one is following them. His daughter leads them by without acknowledging her teammate, which is another sign to her father that whatever's going on is serious.

Finally, the Becketts are in ensconced in the comfortable anonymity of a cab, making their way away from the station. With luck, anyone following them either got lost in the train station or jumped the train to Boston.

"When Castle told you he was 'going away,'" Beckett begins her explanation, instantly catching her father's attention, "he was protecting his family. While we were at the cabin, the people who tried to kill me kidnapped him. They… did things to him and threatened his daughter. Since then, he's focused everything on hiding his redheads and tracking down the people who hurt us."

"By himself?" Jim groans as he wilts before his daughter.

"I'm trying to help, but he's been a couple steps ahead of me the whole time," Beckett confesses, some of her consternation showing through.

"So, we're going to see him now?" Jim asks, wondering about all the subterfuge.

"No," Beckett answers, knowing this is the weak part of her plan, since she's assumed her father's willing participation. "We're going to see one of his attorneys. He's got a job for you, something that'll explain your absence from the city but get you hidden away. We need you to disappear, go somewhere no one would think to find you."

Jim doesn't react for a moment, instead looking out the front windshield of the taxi. As she looks at him, Beckett realizes that he is reacting – the muscles of his jaws are clenched tight, probably from the effort of keeping his mouth shut as he considers what's going on.

"I didn't notice your suitcase," he finally emits in a flat tone, knowing there wasn't one to see.

"Because I'm not leaving," she agrees, speaking a little too fiercely and feeling oddly like a teenager asserting her independence again. "I can't leave," she continues, softening her tone. "We talked about this before – Castle wouldn't be in this mess if not for me. I'm not going to leave him again."

Jim chews on that declaration but ultimately lets it go. Beckett suspects his acquiescence stems more from her tone that his agreement with her course of action, but she's happy to avoid an argument in either case.

The last ten minutes of their ride pass in silence, though father and daughter still manage to connect. Once it was clear that her father wasn't going to challenge her decision, Beckett clasped his arm and let her head rest on his shoulder. She can't recall the last time she took such unadorned comfort from his presence. From the way he cuddled her in, she suspects his father shares her sentiments.

But, the ride comes to an end as Beckett directs the cab into the parking garage of a Manhattan skyscraper, providing the driver with a one-time-use code to get them into the garage. It's yet another layer of security, one that's probably unnecessary but appreciated nonetheless.

A tense elevator ride brings them to a floor where the offices are unmarked. Checking the text from Castle again, she approaches a nondescript door and knocks, stepping back quickly and pulling her sidearm, just in case. Jim looks on in shock, never having seen his daughter draw her weapon or look so ready to use it.

The door opens promptly, revealing a middle-aged man with bushy brown hair, a protuberant nose, and thumb-thick eyebrows that skyrocket when he sees the business end of Beckett's gun.

"Veritable," he says after gulping loudly, his voice still warbling.

"Fallacious," Beckett replies, providing the countersign. With that, she holsters her weapon and turns to collect her very confused father.

"Henry Sorokin," the man introduces himself after the Becketts step through the door. "You must be Kate and Jim Beckett."

"What, no code names?" Jim asks with some perplexity as he extends a hand in greeting.

Henry laughs but doesn't otherwise address Jim's comment. Instead, he turns, shakes Beckett's hand, then takes an anticipatory gulp before addressing her.

"Detective, I think it's time for you to leave."

"What?" Jim asks, wondering why he's suddenly being cast adrift.

"He's right, dad," she tries to soothe. "It's better if I don't know the details. Just…," she trails off and curses herself as she sees his realization, "…just in case. But don't worry," she hastens to add. "Henry will give you something that'll allow us to send messages to each other," she finishes, trying to sound cheerful. Meanwhile, she wonders about the wisdom of getting texts from Castle and her father on the same device. She's already suffered one misfire using the device – the last thing she needs is another error, especially one that sends a text to the wrong man. Better double the length of the password, she thinks wryly to herself.

"So this is goodbye," Jim articulates as Henry steps away to afford them some privacy. "For how long?"

"Not long," Beckett tries to assure her father, but he's not buying it. "Things are accelerating. The end is coming soon."

She hasn't spoken to Castle about this, but she knows him well. He wouldn't have told her to get her dad to safety unless things were dire. The scene in the machine shop and the attack on Castle in California suggest that the stakes are rising. She also knows that her partner has a goal in mind. Not Christmas – as much as he loves that holiday, that's not his target. But there are two other possibilities. The romantic in him probably holds out hope that Ryan's wedding can happen as planned. The writer in him probably wants things to culminate on January 9th, the anniversary of her mother's death. She hopes it's the former, but she'll live with either if it means this will all end.

Jim nods and moves to stand before his daughter. He tries to speak but seems to choke on the words as he looks at her. Instead, he draws her into a hug, where he can speak into her hair without looking into her eyes.

"The last time we were in a situation like this," he whispers, "I placed a terrible burden on Rick. I won't do the same to you. Please be safe. Please do everything you can to come back." Then, worried his message isn't getting through, he tries one more time. "Jo would want love, not vengeance."

"I know," Beckett sniffles, her head tucked into her father's neck, "and I love you, dad. We'll be careful. I'll keep us safe."

Silence reigns as both Becketts try to figure out how she can live up to that promise. Henry's shuffling reminds Jim that it's time to go.

"I love you, too, Katie-Bug. Be good," he admonishes lightly.

Beckett gives a tearful chuckle, remembering these recycled words as his farewell after dropping her at Stanford for her freshman year.

"Good?" she gamely replies, recycling her own words of bravado from back then. "They won't know what hit 'em."

With a long, sad sigh, Beckett bangs her head lightly on the steering wheel of her cruiser.

It's been a horrible day. Packing her father off to go into hiding wasn't a great start. Then, once she'd managed a short panic attack in the nondescript parking garage, she retrieved her car and returned to the Cambridge case, where it looks increasingly likely that Castle's friend, the mayor New York City, is connected to and maybe even responsible for the murder.

With another sigh, she starts the car and pulls into the slow crawl of traffic, opting to head for home rather than the precinct. It's late and she needs to think carefully about how to proceed. A quick call to Gates to report in leaves Beckett looking like she swallowed a lemon, but at least she won't compound today's stress by enraging her boss.

"Do you need a corroborating witness?"

Beckett struggles to wrestle her car back into its lane while simultaneously trying to reach for her weapon and looking to the rear-view mirror. There, grinning like a jackass from the back seat of her cruiser, is her wayward partner. He looks ruffled, and she's not sure she likes the beard, but he still looks wonderful.

"Seriously, Victoria and I are best pals. I can put in a good word for you."

"Castle!" Beckett can't help but shout, her adrenaline pumping and body trying to figure out how to deal with it. "You know it's not a good idea to startle a cop or a driver, right? What are you doing back there?"

"Oh, please," Castle replies with a smirk and an airy wave of his left hand. "You can't honestly tell me you're surprised to see me in the back of a police car," he teases while rolling his eyes. "This is hardly virgin territory for me."

"My mind shudders to think of what runs through yours with the phrase 'virgin territory,'" she snarks, glad beyond words to have him beside – or in back of – her.

"It damned well better refer to Alexis' residence hall."

His rejoinder makes her laugh, but her chuckles curdle once loosed. Alexis shouldn't be in a residence hall yet. She should be back in the loft, tucked safely into the leather opulence and warm firelight. Instead, she's been stashed in a foreign country under a false name to protect her safety.

"Get up here, Castle," Beckett encourages instead, unwilling to have a conversation while casting glances in the rear-view mirror. In fact, why are they talking in the car anyway?

"Uh, I can't really climb over the seats," Castle admits. "And I'm not sure I should draw attention by moving up to the front seat at the next stoplight. Can you imagine? Someone would think I was a convict commandeering a police vehicle. That would get us some unwanted attention."

So, he's hurt. Castle's a big kid – regardless of safety, he'd normally not have a problem climbing over the seats to reach the front of the car. The movements of his left hand must be in lieu of using his dominant hand. Looks like he's still healing from his trip to California.

"Where can we go? Not the Haunt," Beckett thinks aloud.

"Believe it or not, I'm running short on locations for clandestine meetings. Unless…," Castle chuckles as he trails off.

"I am not going back to the machine shop," Beckett declares. "Thinking of you there already gives me nightmares. I don't want to go back."

Risking a quick glance in the mirror, Beckett notes Castle's look of surprise at her comment. He can't really be surprised about how that scene affected her, can he? Maybe he's just surprised she confessed a weakness in front of him.

"Not the machine shop," he agrees quietly. "I don't ever want to go back, either."

Beckett refrains from asking him when he was last there, not wanting to ruin the mood or prompt and admission she'd need to follow.

"No, I've got another place. What the hell," he says with a cavalier chuckle, "it's not like you'll really be surprised. You've seen me at my worst. Take your next left."

Maddeningly, Castle doesn't tell her where they're going. She's so happy at seeing him whole that she doesn't complain much, though she's reserved the right to come back to this later. Instead, she dutifully follows his directions until she finds herself in another parking garage, the second one of the day. Instead of an office building, though, this garage services an exclusive four-star hotel.

"Go to the lobby and ask for the manager," Castle says as she pulls up to the valet area. "Tell him you need a room for the Moriarty-Pym wedding. Then text me the room number."

"You must be joking," Beckett growls as she steps out of the car and realizes what's going on.

Castle shrugs, which seems to cause him some discomfort. "I've got to use all the tools at my disposal. You can cover your face if that helps, or call the manager from one of the house phones."

Not dignifying his suggestions with a reply, Beckett spins on her heel and heads toward the entry door, handing her keys to the parking attendant and trusting Castle to collect the claim check. She strides into the lobby wearing her full Detective persona, here to kick ass rather than engage in some tawdry affair.

Her scowl has the manager scurrying over before she needs to ask for him.

"How may I help you?" he asks, the picture and voice of smooth assurance and competence.

Despite the urge to pull her badge, Beckett instead swallows her pride and misgivings. "I'm here for the Moriarty-Pym wedding," she offers tersely, watching the manager carefully for the slightest smirk or wink.

But he's a consummate professional. "Of course," he nods as he offers an elbow and escorts Beckett toward an unused registration desk. He stops and steps away only long enough to program two card keys before he's again at her side and leading her to an elevator.

"I wasn't sure the Moriarty-Pym wedding was going to happen," he whispers confidentially as he presses the elevator call button. "It's been years since the reservation was made," he says idly while restraining himself from looking at her to see if she understands what he's saying, "and I wondered if we'd ever see it. Perhaps…," he speculates as the elevator arrives and the doors start to open, "additional time was necessary to prepare the way for an appropriate celebration now."

The manager steps onto the elevator with Beckett, but uses his left hand to ensure that the doors don't close while he's still in the car. Inserting a card key in the console, he presses the button for the top floor before handing the card keys to Beckett.

"Room 23 on that floor," he offers. "My name is Devin if you need anything. Once I leave, you can ask for Neville. Please," he offers as he steps out of the elevator and allows the doors to close, "enjoy your stay."

A/N2: I'm back! Real life deadlines are officially behind me, though one held on a little longer than expected. So, I'm still catching up on good stories, though I'm slowly catching up. I had also hoped to post two chapters tonight. That's not going to happen (and the weekend looks busy), but I'm more than halfway through the next chapter, so wait for the next chapter will be shorter than it was for this time around.