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.

Nearly forty-five minutes later, Beckett feels the car go down a sharp, short decline before coming to a temporary rest. Parking garage, she thinks, nodding to herself as they advance after hearing some metallic rattling.

"Please leave the blindfold in place," Shipton says from the front seat, using the singular to preserve Burke's impression that he's the only one who's unaware of their destination. He might panic if he realizes the only recognizable face here is also in the dark.

Both rear doors open at the same time after Shipton leaves the car, which means there is at least one other person here, too. Beckett's helped out of the cab by a large, gentle hand on her elbow. After a moment, she feels the hat lifted from her head and the bandanna tugged upward.

Thankfully, the parking area is dimly lit, so there's no owlish blinking to acclimate to her new location. Shipton stands before her, bandanna in hand. Turning in place, she wants to look at the man who helped her out of the cab. But instead of Castle, it's…

"Trapper John," she greets in a tone of mixed fury and incredulity. "Or should I say Talbot, William T, from Davenport, Iowa?" she whispers, making sure Burke doesn't hear anything he shouldn't. "I thought you wouldn't be cleared for any domestic operations?"

Talbot shrugs while smirking. "Good help's hard to find. Why invest the cost in shipping us to the other side of the world if there's work to be done right here?"

"My promise stands," she seethes in reply, lifting her hand to tap on her forehead to show where her bullet will enter his skull if he messes with Castle.

"Don't worry, Detective," Talbot offers in the same teasing tone of voice she remembers from the New Amsterdam. "We're all family here," he says with an insufferably smug look.

With a quiet throat-clearing, Shipton collects Beckett's attention and nods toward Burke, who's still standing beside the cab, his awkward, shifting stance a clear indicator that he's scared out of his mind.

"Doctor Burke," she offers quietly as she again grabs his arm and tugs him into motion as they follow Shipton and Burke. "We're almost there." He nods in reply and unclenches by half a degree.

After entering through a nondescript door in what appears to be an old office building, Shipton leads the procession silently through a warren of twisting hallways. Then, it's a short elevator ride to another unlabeled door that looks like it was last painted when Beckett was in kindergarten. That door admits them to an antechamber that boasts yet another door, though this one looks fierce: steel plating, hinges on the other side, and a keypad/biometric scanner combination to regulate admittance.

Again, Shipton ushers them through, finally bringing the group to a standstill in front of another metallic door. With a nod, she sends Talbot down the hall. Then, she knocks briskly, waits a few moments, and pushes the door open.

"… keep them closed, please, Mrs. Burke," Beckett hears Castle say. "It's best if you don't see the other people involved, we don't want you blindfolded again."

As Beckett moves to the door, she sees Castle rising from his seat behind a small table. Beckett leads Burke into the room and is about to remove his blindfold when Shipton stills her hand.

"We'll give you two some time together," Castle says kindly. "Mrs. Burke, you can look around and Dr. Burke, you can remove your blindfold as soon as you hear the door close. Take some time to reconnect and we'll talk in a few minutes."

Castle bustles out of the room to afford the Burkes some privacy, closing the door firmly behind him to signal his departure. He remains facing the door, though, until he hears something – a sigh, movement? – that indicates that husband and wife are together again.

Maybe it's the smile he wears as a result. Or maybe it's the stress. Or, most likely, it's just the joy she feels at seeing him again. Whatever the reason, Beckett surprises them all by greeting her errant partner with a hug and a kiss.

"I'll be down the hall," Shipton offers with a smirk. "Rick, he needs to see her while you debrief the Burkes."

Castle nods in acknowledgment bud doesn't look away from Beckett.

"Thank you," she offers once they're alone. "For taking care of Burke and his wife."

"Serendipity," Castle offers with a shrug. "But if we hadn't found her by accident, we would've gone looking."

"I'm glad it didn't come to that," she replies honestly, leaning her head against his chest. "Thanks for taking care of Ryan and Jenny, too. Are they okay?"

"They're on their way," he answers, raising a hand to rub her back. "It'll take a little time to get where they're going, but they'll be safe. Any chance I could talk anyone else into doing the same thing?"

"Doubt it," Beckett replies honestly. "Espo's gonna do his own thing. And you're stuck with me." Castle's about to let fly with a glib reply when she cuts him off. "Although," she offers teasingly, "I'm starting to wonder if maybe I should take a leave of absence and focus on this case. And the people watching me."

Castle blushes slightly and nods. "Knew you'd figure it out," he confesses to the surveillance. "But as for taking a leave, don't jump just yet."

"Oh. Okay," she replies, trying not to sound stung.

"Beckett, Beckett, Beckett," he replies in exasperation, shaking his head. "Not that I don't want you around. Although, come to think of it, my accommodations are pretty limited right now… Anyway," he says, getting himself back on track, "I'm starting to think we might want you in uniform for what's gonna happen next."

"What do you mean?" Beckett asks, her disappointment displaced by curiosity.

"You know I'm – we're after the guy at the top, right?" he asks, gesturing airily to make the point that this whole operation is focused on finding and eliminating the head of a criminal enterprise. "The guy Johanna's murderer works for?"

"Yeah," Beckett nods, remembering their discussion, and her frustration.

"I'm starting to think that our target might be more likely to come out of hiding if we take your guy alive," he explains with a shrug. "And if that's the way we want to go, you should be on duty to slap the cuffs on that bastard, right?"

Beckett can hardly believe what she's hearing. She'd give anything… well, not anything, not anymore. She'd give a lot to be able to arrest her mother's killer. "Yeah," she manages to agree with her voice cracking.

"So, don't surrender your weapon just yet," he cajoles, trying to win her around with a goofy smile. "And if you're going to be at the precinct, I wouldn't mind Espo there for extra muscle."

"He's still being a jerk," Beckett offers apologetically, recalling her theories about Espo's behavior.

Castle just shrugs. "Sure. But he's a capable jerk. Now," he says, clearly switching gears, "Shipton's waiting down the hall to escort you to your next meeting. I'll take care of the Burkes, then we can really get tonight's romance started."

"With a joint interrogation of your 'enforcer'?" she suggests with a grin.

Castle shrugs. Mistaking her cross look for disagreement when instead she's concerned about his safety, Castle rambles through a quick explanation. "You can see if I've learned anything from you over the last few years."

"You've learned quite a bit," Beckett replies, thinking about his claims that due to his time at the precinct, the team wouldn't find him, his money, or his family. "But I'll be happy to evaluate your performance afterward," she offers with a quirked brow.

"Deal!" Castle hastily accepts, prompting a laugh.

"Sit down, Detective," the older man commands after Shipton shows Beckett to another small room off the same hallway that hosted the Burke's meeting place.

Beckett complies, watching the man with interest. It's not Lynch, not that she thought it would be. Clearly, the man with the silver hair, gravelly voice, and piercing eyes is used to being in charge. The only question now is whether he's just a rung on the ladder or if he's the top.

"We're here to talk about the substance of faith," he says, sliding a thin manila folder across the table and placing it in front of him. He opens the folder long enough to extract a document from within. With what Beckett's sure is false gravity, he tears the last page of the document free of the binding before putting it on the table. Using the folder to cover everything except the line at the bottom, he spins the document so it's facing Beckett. Withdrawing a pen from the inside pocket of his blazer, he extends toward her.

"Sign this."

Beckett might not've pursued her dream of a law career, but it doesn't take a legal scholar to recognize that signing a contract sight-unseen is an unsound practice.

"Sure," she dismisses. "I don't think so. Not without reading it."

"Then you can leave," he replies. "Shipton'll dump you on a street corner somewhere. Good luck."

Beckett doesn't budge. "So, what? I have to show some blind faith by signing some damned document to participate in this case? Well, forget it. Where's Castle? He'll straighten this out."

"Richard signed his own paperwork. He can stay. You can't."

"There's no way Castle signed anything without Henry or Stan or whoever – probably his whole legal team – reviewing the document," Beckett dismisses. "They'd kill him before you could."

Smiling at her last comment, he just shrugs. "Henry reviewed his paperwork."

"But I don't even get to read it? That's hardly fair."

The unexpected slam of his hand hitting the tabletop startles Beckett, making her jump.

"Fuck fair," he sneers. "I'm not a judge. I'm not a jury."

Beckett assesses him anew and follows the obvious path. "So, you're the executioner. Tuweitha?" she asks, thinking back to what happened in the bank.

He just shrugs and nods, acknowledging her comment. Beckett, meanwhile, is increasingly convinced that she's talking with the leader of this operation. "The government trained you to catch killers," he explains. "It trained me to be a killer. And I," he says seriously while piercing Beckett with another glare, "am far better at my job than you could ever be at yours."

"But you can't kill people if you can't find them," Beckett replies, thinking quickly about what's going on here – why Castle's been brought in, why they're talking about using Johanna's killer to lure out other prey.

"Which is why I won't let you jeopardize this operation by chasing your own little vendetta," he replies, reaching over to tap on the paper again. "You sign, you toe the line, you become an asset to our team, or you leave."

This is asinine, Beckett realizes. It's got to be a show – there's no way a document signed under these circumstances can be binding. Well, not unless it's in a venue where the cards were already stacked against her or it's something she wouldn't contest. So, instead, this must be some kind of test. And if it's a test, she thinks, then she can score points.

"Does anything in that document threaten Castle or my ability to work with him?"

The older man stares at her, offering no immediate reaction. It doesn't bother Beckett in the slightest. She's used that technique herself and is well-versed in why it works. But the effectiveness of the silent treatment is based on the comfort and confidence of the person being questioned. She's happy to sit quietly while she awaits an answer.

Finally, with no physical movement (not even a change in facial expression), he utters a single word. "No."

"Fine, then," Beckett replies, grabbing the pen and signing the document with a flourish. "Now, where is he?"

"The enforcer?"

"No, Castle!" Beckett erupts in frustration. "Where is he?"

"You'll find him down the hall, across from the Burkes' room."

"That's it?" she asks in surprise. "No security escort, no secret oaths or admonitions about what'll happen to me if I don't follow your unknowable rules?"

"You're Richard's problem now," he answers with a shrug, content to remain seated even as Beckett stands to depart. "And we'll see how this goes," he continues as Beckett pulls the door open. "My son's previous taste in women has hardly conditioned me to expect success."

"He's your father?!"

Castle, caught by surprise, shoots a look at Shipton. She steps out of the room and closes the door behind her, ignoring Beckett's blush at not having noticed her and offering them some privacy.

"So, he told you he's my dad, huh?" Castle asks with a sigh. "Did he threaten you, extort you, or try to kill you?"

"I'm not sure," Beckett replies, wondering more about the origin of Castle's comment than the content of whatever she just signed. "Is he…," she trails off, changing tacks. Questions about Castle's progenitor are just idle curiosity. Time to focus on what really matters. "Are you okay?"

"It was a hell of a summer," Castle allows in a low voice, placing his hand atop the one she placed on his forearm.

"I can't even imagine," Beckett admits. Imagining paternal drama layered on top of everything else that happened this summer seems like too much. Not for the first time she wonders if the threats against his daughter aren't what kept Castle from crumbling.

"Neither could mother," he admits, wrenching up the anguish by another notch.

"Oh, Martha," Beckett groans on the poor woman's behalf. "You'd said she had some shocks over the summer. I guess this was one of them?"

"She did okay seeing him again," Castle replies while lifting his hand to run it through his hair. It's a classic sign of stress, especially since he doesn't seem to care that he's managed to create a bit of a mess. "She did less well when his wife showed up."

Beckett's hand on his forearm tightens. "Are you telling me that after disappearing for 40 years and leaving her to raise you alone, he showed up for the first time with his wife in tow?!"

"She's involved in all this," Castle explains with an airy gesture. "Which makes it worse, I know. Even more? She looks eerily like mother – older, slim, red-headed. It was… I'm still not sure what to make of it. Maybe I should've asked Doctor Burke," he huffs.

"Is Martha okay?" Beckett pushes through Castle's attempt to defuse with humor. "You were hurt, she met him and his wife, and then she was separated from you and Alexis? She must be inconsolable."

"I've managed to visit her a few times," he replies, looking oddly touched at her concern for his mother. "I'm trying to figure out how to get her and Alexis together. And the place she's convalescing – I made sure it had a disproportionate share of eligible young bachelors as staff or guests. The only problem there," he admits, "is that the better she's doing, the less I want to hear about it."

Allowing a chuckle at his grimace, Beckett steps into him and drops a kiss on his cheek. "You're a good son," she praises. "At least to your mother, who's the only one who matters. I'm not sure how I feel about your dad."

"Call him Jackson," Castle corrects, causing Beckett to realize that the older man had never introduced himself. "It's how he's known around here and I'm not sure I'm comfortable thinking about him as my father."

"Something to figure out when this is all done," she replies. This is part of her strategy – remind Castle of things they can do after this case is put to rest as a way of encouraging him to imagine the possibilities available for the future.

"Yeah," he replies, shaking his head. She didn't mean the comment to be a reminder for them to refocus on the case right now, but maybe it's best to put the family drama on hold for now. "So," he says brusquely, signaling the change in focus. "You wanted to be here for the interrogation of the enforcer, right?"

"Right," she affirms.

"Promise me," he asks, "that you're not gonna take off after your mom's killer. Because his name's gonna come up in this interrogation," he says while nodding toward the closed blinds behind him. Beckett wants to slap herself in the head – she'd assumed the blinds obscured windows to the outside. Instead, they must look into the room in which the enforcer awaits.

"I promise," she offers freely. He looks at her for several long moments, letting her vow sink in. He gives a small nod, but Beckett wants to drive the point home. "I figured it out, Castle. If I take off, this doesn't end, right? If I take my guy down and yours runs, then you'll be lost in this case just like I was lost in mine. We're gonna be together Castle," she promises, "and that means we both need to be free."

Castle stares at her again, even more intensely this time. But she recognized the look of undisguised hope. Followed by a laugh.

"Stop it, Beckett," he chides, forcing a laugh. "You're making me all sappy when I need to be a tough guy in there. Somehow, I don't think talking about our feelings is gonna get the information I need from our friend."

"You never know, Castle," she laughs in reply. "Didn't Martha ever encourage you to use your words rather than your fists?"

"With my mouth?!" he laughs again. "I'm sure she prayed for me to get into more fights at school." After accepting her nod of acquiescence, he gets serious again. "Okay, ground rules are pretty much the same as yours – stay in here, knock on the glass if something's going seriously wrong, and I'll take breaks to see if there's anything you think we should follow up on. Oh," he says while snapping his fingers, "and forget anything I do or say in there. It's gonna get ugly."

"I thought we were doing this together," Beckett reminds him.

"I'm going to do things in there that you can't do," he offers bluntly. "We can't see through the glass from that side, so I'll just comfort myself with the delusion that you'll turn around or step into the hallway for the particularly gruesome parts."

Beckett inspects him for signs of humor, but sees none. He's mentioned dark doings in their past meetings. And she has no illusions about what happened to her shooter before he died. As if to offer more proof that this won't be a typical NYPD interrogation, Castle walks over to the door and taps on it gently. The door opens enough for Shipton's hand to come through, passing a wooden baseball bat to him.

"Louisville Slugger," Castle notes as he hefts the bat and takes a slow-motion practice swing, leaving the door ajar. "Always wanted one of these when I was a kid. Not that I could really play…," he reminisces as he drifts back toward Beckett.

"Hey," Beckett says a little sharply, recalling his attention. Reaching out, she cups his cheek. "Try to get what you can without damaging yourself." Had she said it jokingly, he'd assume she was making a joke about him being clumsy. But her seriousness makes it clear she was talking about his soul, not his body. "But do what you need to do to protect Alexis." Then, gently, she leans in for a short, sweet kiss.

Castle nods as she steps back and clears the way for his departure. With a deep breath, he steels himself and strides to the door. He comes to an abrupt halt in the doorframe, though, turning and shooting her a devilish look.

"The other reason I'm going in alone?" he mentions with false casualness. "It's my turn."

Then he's gone leaving briskly. Before she can move to close the door, Shipton steps into the room to watch the interrogation with Beckett. Shipton closes the door before stepping over to the window. Reaching for the cord, she tugs the blinds upward. As it moves, Beckett sees a metal chair bolted to the floor.

The first tug of the cord shows the enforcer's ankles shackled to the chair legs.

The second tug of the cord reveals the torso of the enforcer. With wrists cuffed to the arms of the chair, his hands are fisted as he tests the strength of his bonds.

The third tug of the cord fully retracts the blinds, leaving the window completely uncovered. Beckett's unconscious growl startles Shipton, who shoots her a wary look. Beckett ignores her. Instead, the whole of her focus is on the man bolted in the chair. She hasn't seen him since he was in her interrogation room, after she shoved him and shattered the viewing window.

Her growl recedes and leaves a wide, predatory smile on Beckett's face. This time, she realizes, there's no smarmy defense attorneys circling, no precinct rules to limit the interrogation. This time, Vulcan Simmons will answer for what he's done.

Shipton finds Beckett's look of anticipation even more terrifying than her growl.

A/N: I had some troubles with this chapter (and the last). I ended up taking things in a slightly different direction than anticipated, so we'll see how that works out.

To clear my head, I started writing a little bit of the story I had in mind for last Halloween. When I'm working, I usually title my stories by their acronym (JAR, UNM, etc.). Well, this one is ICHY (for "I Can't Hear You"), which seems like a good title for a spooky story. So, I've decided I'll work on this once in a while so that if there are still people reading Castle stories in October, I'll have something ready to go.