A smallish chapter this time. It was going to be longer, but I am wrestling with a bit of the next part, and the kids are on holidays right now, so I thought that I would post what I have to keep things moving along a bit faster.

Thank you to my amazing beta, ebfiddler, for her continuing patience and invaluable aid. Thank you! Any remaining issues are down to me.

I hope you like it! Let me know.

On with the show!

Chapter 25

The doors were locked.

The windows were fastened.

Eduardo was on shift down in the lobby.

There were two of New York's finest by the front door, eating huge bear claws and drinking the finest coffee he could find on his way home.

The loft was quiet.

All was well.

Evening was beginning to draw its long dark wings across the windows, washing the manmade glare of the city through its gauzy charcoal filigree so that the loft's living room was cast in an ever deepening shadowy lacework. The dominating source light for the room was now coming from the huge flat screen. The Hitchcock classic Spellbound was flickering brightly across its broad screen, the cast mouthing their lines in silence as they played their parts. Rick had opted not to turn on the teletext as the quiet of approaching night filled the loft because it felt strangely wrong to interrupt the calm it seemed to be bringing to his two red heads. After hours of coddling him, herding him out of his office, feeding him, endlessly reminding him to do his breathing exercises and hovering, hovering they were finally content. So with the volume lowered, he was left to fall back on memory to fill in the words exchanged on screen, which was no problem – he had seen this film so many times he could recite the script in his sleep. Ingrid Bergman. Gregory Peck. Elegance. Murder. Mystery. Love. Thrills. A sweeping, soaring violin orchestral score that Alexis loved, and made his mother sigh wistfully and claim longings for a time she was too young to remember. Rick suspected it might have more to do with a bond of suffering between two actresses that had shared the burden of unwed motherhood when such things were notable and frowned upon. He knew to keep his mouth firmly shut about those kinds of speculations.

Regardless, it was a family favourite.

And besides, he had a lot on his mind and the movie was carrying on very well without him.

Rick was sprawled on the sofa, a sinfully soft russet angora rug tangling his legs at Alexis' insistence, and a glass of his finest liquor – once again – at his Mother's. At the other end of the couch, the lady herself was nursing her own glass, new manuscript lying forgotten across her lap as she watched the movie, enraptured. And across from them, legs tucked under her as she sat in an armchair a text book open in her lap and more stacked on the arms of the chair along with some hot buttered popcorn, Alexis was dividing her time between the mysteries of the physical Universe and the flirtatious scholarly discussion of the mysteries of love between Peck and Bergman as they strolled through country fields. Rick watched Alexis pore over the text book for a moment as something caught her interest. It never ceased to enthral and mystify him, how his daughter had found her niche within the hard sciences. The sciences, hard or soft, had never been his thing. It was more than just not possessing the mathematical brain required to appreciate the mystery and beauty of the physical world in the way those who did have such a mind could. His mind needed something else, another way of understanding. His language to describe the universe was found in words, prose, and poetry. With words he could explore and discover, find his own awe and grace, mystery and intrigue, and lose himself in possibilities. So he took a sip from his glass and left Alexis to the numerical discoveries awaiting her within the covers of her physics text. Instead, he glanced for the umpteenth time at his cell phone, looking for some very particular words, from a very particular person, that he had been waiting for all afternoon. The silence of his cell was distracting him endlessly – first from his afternoon of readying himself to turn from hunted to hunter, and now from Ms Bergman.

A sudden sharp flick against his nose.

He looked up to see Alexis scrutinizing him, more popcorn loaded in one raised hand. He lifted his eyebrows at her and watched her dump her ammunition back in the bowl on the arm of the chair. She suddenly flicked her hands out in front of her like she was throttling a motorbike, raised a closed hand to her ear, grimacing in query.

Beckett called yet?

He shook his head.

Her hands fluttered through a series of secret signs. Don't worry Dad, she will. You can relax.

He grimaced to himself. Relax? How could he do that? He was on edge, despite allowing his mother and daughter to coddle him for hours, and he definitely could not relax. It was getting worse too the longer his cell remained quiet and he was forced to hold himself back from making first contact. Beckett would be busy. Still. But, there had been more than enough time for Baxter's address to have been visited. More than enough time for Baxter to be reunited with his daughter. There had been ample space now for statements to have been taken. Yet his cell was quiet. He knew Beckett would contact him when she could. Soon as she could. He knew it. Yet, his palms crawled with the urge to seize his cell and type.

He needed a distraction.

Something more than the passivity of a movie.

Beckett had promised dinner. He glanced at his cell, noting that it was well and truly time for a meal, and decided that he could occupy his mind by locating something suitable for them to eat. All the possibilities. Out or in? She would be exhausted, but wired. Probably would want to work off some of the buzz of the day, wind herself down. So, out then, but not too far away. He needed to be close to home. So... he could bring her food to the Precinct? He could. Home cooked or not? Remy's? Or Italian? Greek? Korean? Chinese?

Chinese. Always a winner for both of them.

Ah.

He knew the perfect thing!

He scooped up his phone and started searching, ordering, organising. By the time his cell did buzz with the long awaited words, he was ready.

KB: Wrapping up. Be done in 30. Dinner?

RC: Yes. Stay there, coming to you.

KB: Sure?

RC: Sure. Don't move! On my way.

CASTLECASTLECASTLECASTLECASTLE

Rick's arms, hands and bruised ribs were afire from the weight of the bags he was carrying, but he gritted his teeth and made it into the privacy of the precinct elevator, before giving in and lowering them to the floor in a controlled drop.

"Oooow!" He breathed out the groan, relieved to have been able to hold it in and maintain some dignity in front of the Precinct's front desk and the other police milling about. When he could straighten up again, Rick jabbed the control panel and felt the elevator shiver as it began to ascend. He breathed out, steeling himself, and managed to scoop up the bags as the doors jerked and shuddered open and spilled him out into the bullpen. It was after hours, not as many faces and a few adjoining offices were dark, but there were enough people around wanting greetings that Rick had to take longer that he would have liked to make his way to where he needed to be.

Finally, there they all were: his partners. He hurried over to their cluster of desks, as much to deliver the presents he had brought as to have a chance to relieve himself of the painful weight of them.

"Dinner!" he said, by way of alerting them to his arrival, and with that word he could now deposit his load onto the nearest desk. And try not to collapse right on top of it.

"Dude!"

"Bro!"

Espo and Ryan were suddenly crowding him, elbows out, wedging him aside none too gently to dig into the bags like they hadn't eaten in weeks. Rick let them muscle him aside without rejoinder because he could see in their body language a victory long fought and hard won. Then Ryan was right in front of him, chopsticks in one hand and two bulging cartons of noodles and rice in the other. He was all grins, clutching his spoils.

"Thanks Castle!" Rick watched Ryan lips as he over pronounced the words.

"Dude, what are you doing? Cut that out." Espo shoved Ryan with his shoulder, his own hands full of take out. "Castle didn't need that last month, he don't need it now!"

"Hey, I am just thanking him for the food!" Ryan retorted, cheeks flushing.

"Man!" Espo huffed, pushing his partner away to their desks, before becoming distracted by the approach of another detective. "Hey, Hanrahan, get your mitts offa those bags!

"Yeah, anyway, thanks Castle. For Baxter too dude. We got 'em – all of 'em. Boss will fill you in. Captain wants to see you too, tomorrow. He's impressed with what you did with Baxter. And we need to have a beer." And he was gone, attention taken by his cartons and Rick's eyes slid to where they had wanted to stray since arriving in the bull pen.

"Castle!" Beckett called out to him, from her desk. There were dark smudges under her eyes, and he could see more red in the whites than he would like, but she was glowing. He approached with lightness in his feet; drawn to her welcoming harbour. It was clear he did not have to ask if they succeeded, only await the details.

"You found Monday!" he prompted as he reached the desk and sat gingerly, stiffly, in his chair, feeling achy, but also like he had won some invaluable treasure. Beckett nodded with a pleased incline of her head and a quiet, slow smile. Long strands of hair fell across her face and he had to reign in an impulse to brush them aside when she didn't. He wondered suddenly if she was just too tired to make the effort, and finally his family's need to coddle and hover became clear.

"We did. Right where Baxter said we would. She's fine. Everyone is fine," his partner said in that minimalist way of hers. The one that said everything he needed to hear, but left him wanting for the details.

"And Carmichael?"

"Baxter kept his word. We have him." They regarded one another for the space of heartbeats and he saw the moment that the adrenalin finally began to ebb. As if finally voicing those words was what she needed to feel the reality that it was over. She looked suddenly very tired and vulnerable. "Castle, what you did today,–"

"Just glad to be useful." He shrugged, finishing for her as she hesitated, and felt stupidly pleased when he saw the agreement in her eyes – useful, to her. He hesitated himself. She was tired, he was hurting, and it probably was not the best time to blurt out: "We – we make a good team."

"We do." She concurred, with a small bob of her head, and he was floored. For a good long second he didn't know what to say. But it was probably not the right time to also blurt out (for a second impulsive time that evening):

"Have dinner with me!" Rick watched her eyebrows climb her forehead as she registered what he'd said – and probably how he said it. Oh crap! "I – I mean, you have to tell me what happened! I need details Detective. Leave nothing out!"

Beckett was quiet. Processing. He watched, feeling as if he had just pushed things too far. But it had felt right to ask. In the moment. He really didn't want to go home; he didn't want to leave her, them. Not yet. They were a good team (all of them). He could feel it more intensely now than ever before. And it changed something: his decision to accept her immediate help with his unsolved mystery suddenly felt less like it was being fuelled by grim necessity. He felt the change, the pendulum swinging from something born of desperation and need, to something ... warmer, something hopeful, something shared.

He didn't want it to end with the delivery of take out.

"And this is the part where you say, like a normal person: yes, I'd love to have dinner with you!" Lanie suddenly appeared from behind Beckett and Castle nearly jumped out of his skin. Beckett did jump, jerking in her seat, sending her friend an irritated, flustered look. "Come on girl, it hasn't been that long between drinks. Say it with me now: yes-"

"Lanie!" Beckett squawked. Then, tried diversion: "You're working late."

"Yes, I am. But look at you, all finished up for the evening." Lanie squinted at Beckett's computer screen, over her friend's shoulder, and reached out to tap something. Beckett made some indeterminate sounds, or words, of protest Rick couldn't hear or decipher, but Lanie did. "Ok, let's be more practical then: you need to eat and Writer Boy is paying. Right?" She turned a shrewd glare on to Rick. He nodded.

"Of course. Goes without saying."

"Then it's settled." The Medical Examiner nodded, pleased with her work. "You two go have some food. Have some fun. You both look like you need some of each of those." Beckett opens her mouth. "Uh huh, whatever it is can wait until tomorrow. Can't it, Javi? Kevin?"

Rick and Beckett turned to look in unison.

"Yeah. We've got it covered," Ryan said. There was red sauce on his lip and an amused glint in his eye. "Carmichael isn't going anywhere, and we can handle the rest of the paperwork."

"Sure." Espo grunted as he wilted under Lanie's stern gaze. He scowled around his next mouthful of noodles.

"Good," Lanie said, with satisfaction. She gave Rick and Beckett a tough look. "I swear you two are going to be the death of me. Now, go!

"But-" Beckett stuttered, but Lanie it seemed, had already decided that that was that and her attention was already taken by something else.

"Javi where is this heavenly food you called me about?" Lanie suddenly called out to where the boys are sitting at their desks behind Rick. She narrowed her eyes: "Hanrahan, don't you even think about it! Just keep on walking, honey. Uh huh, that's it. Off you go – "And Rick lost first her words, and then the melody of her voice as she disappeared behind him to fend off the interloper and find herself some food.

Rick didn't wait another second. He forced himself up and out of his chair and snagged Beckett's coat from the back of hers. She hesitated, but then she was rising, taking the coat and slipping it on.

"No burgers Castle." She said, sounding more herself, regaining their usual ground. He watched her thread her burgundy scarf around her throat.

"No, no. No burgers. Promise."

End of chapter.

In the next one: a dinner and its time for Castle's personal mystery to take centre stage.