Quick A/N: I know I said the action would be back this chapter, but it didn't quite make it. But the next chapter is well underway and it is absolutely back on the case at the 12th.

As always, thank you ebfiddler, beat extraordinaire! This shortish story has turned into a bit of a marathon. I so appreciate you sticking with me - coming into the home straight now.

On with the chapter.

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Rick tugged on the front door to the loft one more time. Just for luck. Not to check that the door was locked. Again. Not for the fifth time. No. Because he knew it was locked, as were the windows. And the security system was engaged. He knew because he had checked it all. More than a few times.

"R -ard, darl -" Behind him in the hallway, his mother was calling for him. Instinctively, he hunched his shoulders, feeling an admonishment coming over his fussing with the door. But he couldn't help it. This was the first time he was leaving Alexis alone in the loft since his Achilles heel was revealed to the world, and despite Beckett's sensible logic that it was unlikely that it - he - would return now, Rick couldn't (wouldn't) take that gamble with his only child's safety; with her life. A flash of that pale mask and the cold dead skin under his young fingers flickered along the edges of his memory. Rick tugged on the door again. His mother's hand landed on his as he did so, and she appeared by his side. He looked down, habit driving him to brace for that chastisement for allegations of obsessive compulsive behavior. "Alexis will be fine. She has to study. And the best of the best would have better luck breaking into Fort Knox than our home - you have seen to that. Amply." Rick blinked at her words, surprised by her understanding though he knew he really shouldn't be. Another thing to feel guilty about.

"I know, it's just -" he drew in a breath. He had to get a grip. He let the weight of his mother's hand pull his from the door handle. "Yeah. She will be fine. Fine."

"Of course she will. And there are guards on the building and Eduardo in the lobby."

"I know," he repeated himself, hanging onto her words as he followed her to the elevator. They were the truth. No one was getting in here who wasn't known and safe. Gina (after they had buried the hatchet, mostly by pretending that fight had never happened - as was their long-time bad habit) had sent the threatening emails, posts and letters to the Twelfth this morning. A short time later, Beckett had sent him a brief text acknowledging it and letting him know that the Captain had used those provocative messages to justify the continuing presence of the uniforms guarding the front entrance to his building. He was so grateful and he must remember to keep the men and women on that door supplied with free quality coffee and pastries - he knew more than a few friendly vendors that could be trusted to deliver and he texted one of them as they wandered the few steps to the elevator. So, between himself and Beckett, the apartment building was secure. And he was glad his mother was not trying to talk him out of escorting her, like she had yesterday. At least he could be as sure as possible that both of them were safer this way. His mother taking a car service to the doctor was one thing, a known quantity, but having her taking off across the city to meet with someone he had never met in a tiny new experimental theater... No. Just no.

This way was safer.

And the thing in the forest was a he, not an it.

He, not it.

Another of Beckett's gifts: that pronoun. He. It changed everything. He hadn't realized just how much that simple little two letter word mattered. But it did. Oh, it did. It wasn't like he had consciously been preparing to do battle with a ghoul or some sort of devilish creature, he didn't think he'd been that far gone. Really. Though until Beckett had exposed his self-protective use of that impersonal pronoun, maybe part of him had been. But, there was no otherworldly creature, deserving to be called it, that was capable of climbing sheer apartment walls to smash in the windows; no thing was going to appear in a puff of smoke inside his locked fortress. And no he was capable of such things - which meant his earthly defenses were good and solid and about as impenetrable as a home could be. So, despite the anxiety that just would not quit, despite the tiny tiny part of his mind that still screamed at him that it was still correct, he had to hang on to this new word. Because Beckett had given it to him. And because it was the truth.

He was sure.

Mostly.

He drew in a calming breath.

The elevator light flashed at him as he thumbed the little button, and he saw it was travelling up from the lobby. That was good. It gave him time to do this: he pulled out his cell again and tapped out a message.

RC: "Dammit, man! I'm a doctor, -"

Rick waited for the response to his prompt. There was only one correct answer. Alexis knew it. So did he. If she didn't respond, or if she did not send him the correct response, then he would know she needed him. A heartbeat later he got his daughter's response:

AC: It's been 30 seconds Dad!

RC: "Dammit, man! I'm a doctor,-"

AC: "- not a physicist" Dr McCoy, Star Trek.

RC: Good. Did you delete these texts?

AC: Yes Dad! Everything is ok. I am ok. Go! XX

The elevator doors opened and they stepped into the tight space. Once there, his mother looped her arm through his and squeezed the limb into her side. Reassurance. Motherly attention. He felt chastened by it, even as he appreciated it. He knew he had tied up the loft in so many layers of security it was almost impossible to penetrate, but at the same time his unease would not abate. Making his family worry, making them fearful, was never part of the plan. It was the antithesis of everything he had worked for. His mother should not be looking after him, it should be the other way around. The thought came in hot on a wave of determination, tinged with fear; Beckett was right, something had to be done to end this. Rick reached around to squeeze his mother's hand where it rested over his forearm.

The elevator lowered them to the lobby and the doors jerked a little as they opened. Eduardo was waiting to greet them as they exited. As always. Rick smiled as he saw the familiar face, the uniform. He took in the deepened lines in the older man's face, the slightly discolored wet patch on the lapel of his jacket, and the aroma of strong coffee. The doorman had arrived well before his usual shift began it seemed. Long enough for fatigue to set in and so to require, and then spill, a strong black coffee. Given that Eduardo did not like coffee, it was a telling sign. Rick knew the man felt his responsibility to his building, and the residents, keenly, but right now he was clearly pulling extra shifts to keep both safe and well.

"Good morning, Mr Castle," Eduardo started, and Rick made his reply before the doorman turned his gaze towards the lady on Rick's arm, "Ms Rogers. Might I say you are looking particularly lovely this morning, Madam?" The doorman made the compliment with a smile, and in just the right way to take decades from his mother's face, bringing her out in a flourish of girlish delight.

"Ah kind sir, and good morning to you. I have an audition with a new playwright and Richard has been so kind as to escort me."

"How wonderful Ms Rogers, I am sure you will dazzle as always. But, are you able to do this, Mr Castle? With your injuries?" The doorman frowned.

"It's fine," Castle said, in his most reassuring voice. "We'll only be gone for a short time, and I don't want mother running the gauntlet alone this morning. Not with such an important audition."

"No, no, of course not." Eduardo nodded. "Well, then we shall use the back entrance to avoid the vultures that are still waiting outside." Rick looked over the man's shoulder, glimpsing a group of paparazzi on the sidewalk lounging around the doors, fiddling with their gear. One was smoking. There were less there than earlier, thank god, but more than he would like to deal with right now. Eduardo went on: "I will have the car service move around the block to meet you. It will have to wait for you down from the alley way to keep the location of the access from prying eyes. The vultures know you came into the building through another entrance the other day, but they have not found it yet. And I will keep my eye on your lovely daughter. Is this to your liking?"

"Eduardo, you are a wonder." Rick's mother reached out impulsively, grasping the man by the upper arms and beaming. "What would we do without you?" She released him as he stepped back and held out his hand to indicate they should move around to the rear of the lobby. As she did so, Rick stepped forward and laid his hand over the doorman's shoulder.

"Thank you," he said, sincerely, seriously. "I don't know what we would have done without your help these last few days. All these years really." Rick reached into his coat and pulled out a white envelope. He pressed it into Eduardo's hand. The older man made to refuse and Rick shook his head. "Please, accept this with my thanks. It's not much, considering all you are doing for my family, for me, but please allow me this small gesture of gratitude."

"Very well, Mr Castle, but you know that I take care of all my residents, and this building in just the same way." He protested, deflecting and downplaying his part. "It is my job."

Rick patted the man's shoulder, not put off in the least. "To some people, it would be a job Eduardo, but what you do for us, for the building, is far above and beyond a mere job," he said. "Hope you like it. Best seats in the house I am told." At that, Eduardo's eyebrows rose upwards, eyes widening.

"You didn't!"

"Oh, didn't I?" Rick grinned. The pull of the bruises barely registering with the happiness that only giving joy to another could bring.

"My wife will be over the moon." Eduardo looked down at the envelope with new pleasure.

"Good! Now, I must get Mother to her audition, or I will never hear the end of it."

CASTLECASTLECASTLE

Mohammad, his usual driver, was back from leave and Rick was appreciative, though he still scuttled them rapidly past the causes of his injuries, and gave the official and vague line about why he had hidden his hearing - promising himself silently that he would make up to the driver for the lie when the time was right. Then it was back into trading the usual pleasantries, and sharing commiserations on the pointier aspects of living with teenage daughters in The Big Apple as they drove to the Theater District.

As the car worked its way through heavy traffic and ascended the numbered rungs of streets he had known and loved since childhood, Rick was brought into the heart of very familiar territory. He watched beloved landmarks slide by his window: theaters he had haunted as a boy as his mother performed , the cafes and bars he grew to know as the years passed, the street vendors amongst the crowds of pedestrians, the entrance to a narrow alley way where he had experienced his first real kiss (god, he had been so nervous he almost missed her mouth), his favorite magic shop with the live shows at 2pm every Saturday, and always, the towering backdrop to his life: the electric brilliance of those billboards that soared high above it all. Rick touched the car's window. He fancied he could feel the vivid beating, living thrum of the City even through the glass. And he found himself falling in love with the place all over again. Through all the memories, the familiarity, he felt he was re-experiencing his City as if it was his first time here - and in a sense it was he supposed: the first time all of him was here and openly so, damaged ears and all. This was his City, he thought suddenly. This was where he belonged. As much as his mother lived and breathed New York, it was his oxygen too and he needed it. He never wanted to leave it. He never wanted to be driven from its streets again.

The vehicle glided to a halt at the curb, and Rick and his mother exited a little shy of the theater as was his mother's habit when auditioning. Arriving like a chauffeured diva is for after opening night, Richard. Rick stayed close as they worked their way through the foot traffic flowing like a clichéd river along the side walk. His mother led him directly to the polished window of a nearby bakery for another of her many, many superstitious theater-oriented habits: the final preen. As she checked her reflection, Rick took up a position behind her, pulled out his cell and typed:

RC: " Autobots! -"

He waited impatiently for Alexis to reply, tapping his foot to release the frisson of anxiety that suddenly prickled his skin, taking some of the buzz from his warm reflections in the car. He took a breath and watched his mother checking her look, then turned his attention to scanning the street for anything that might hint at danger: a face turned their way for too long, a vehicle curb crawling or returning to roll past again, the flash of a camera lens or something more sinister. Anything. Even the dark flicker of a menacing black cloak lurking in the recesses of buildings or the mouths of streets and alleyways that were visible from his vantage point. As he sought out the entrance of each intersecting street, through the hustle and flurry of brightly colored pedestrians and vehicles, searching for something out of place, he suddenly began to recognize in himself the feeling that maybe the shrouded murderer from the forest was unlikely to appear in that cloak in broad daylight in a busy New York street - even in the Theater District where costumes were not that unusual. It didn't hurt to check, but... He stopped fidgeting as he realized where his thoughts had taken him. He had never weighed up the possibility of seeing that cloaked figure lurking in the street before. Before, he was simply on alert for it, making it his priority. And he would have been unable to rest because of it. But just now...

No one could ever accuse him of being possessed with an over abundance of common sense, of rationality or somber logic, but somehow in the course of a single evening one person had managed to do what scores of aggravated teachers and concerned family, an ex-wife and even his daughter had been unable to achieve: persuading him to prioritize logic above a good story. Detective Kate Beckett and her mystery-solving, canny Detective reasoning had somehow reorganized his thoughts for him! It was unlikely that the murderer would come at him, attack his mother, in full sinister get-up in the open street. It was possible (and that thought still made him tighten up inside, the old fear still a real and living thing not easily dislodged or disregarded, even now), but the odds were small. If the man wanted to shut him up, take him out and continue to preserve his anonymity, he wasn't going to be waving a dagger dressed like Death in his hooded cloak while crowds gathered and pulled out their cell phones to put it all online. It wasn't the sort of behavior that would fit with the murderer that had stayed hidden for decades - even if he felt his cover might be blown. It just didn't fit, he realized. It didn't fit any mystery story worthy of the name. He would never use such a clumsy device in his own writings.

Well, that was just confounding: gloriously and mystifyingly astounding. How did she do that to him?

"Oh!" His mother had swirled back into his line of sight. "I simply must insist you take a penny for the thoughts that put that smile back on your face darling!"

His cell beeped, interrupting his reply to his mother:

AC: " -Transform and rollout!" Optimus Prime - Transformers. And don't you ever tell anyone I know that one, Dad.

He smiled more broadly.

"Just musing on life's twists and turns and light bulb moments, Mother," he replied, being deliberately cryptic; not ready to divulge this newborn and delicate change of mind. She regarded him skeptically at first, but then her expression shifted to resignation and bemusement, and not a small measure of relief.

"Well, whatever the cause, it is good to see you coming back to yourself. Now, let's go. Can't be late!"

End chapter

Let me know what you think? The next chapter is going to move things right along - not just with the case at the 12th, but with Rick's personal mystery.