Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

Good, Kate thinks, I hope the cranberry juice in your stupid drink ruins that thousand-dollar dress you're wearing. Which you probably plan to claim as a tax deduction since you wear it "to work." She turns again so that her back is to the Cosmo-splattered cow, which has two advantages: it allows Gina to think that she's in the clear, and it gives Kate a chance to speak to the bartender.

She nods to him, says "Neil" just loud enough for him to hear, and he comes over.

"More coffee?"

"No, thanks. I sobered up fast thanks to those two cups and the dame behind me. Don't look, don't look."

"The dame behind you?" He swipes an imaginary spot from the bar. "Blonde in the light blue dress? Sitting with a guy in a gray jacket?"

"That's the one."

"What about her?"

"She's the ex."

"Ohhh, that ex? And she's with him. Man, what are the odds of them coming here at the same time as you? Weird they didn't stay at the beach in this heat. I'm sorry, that's tough on you."

"It would be, but that's not him. The guy she's with is not my him. I've never seen him before, but the way she just kissed him? He's definitely no stranger to her."

Neil shows a trace of a smile. "The plot sickens."

"Definitely. So, I was wondering if I could ask you a little favor?"

"Sure."

"Would you mind sort of keeping an eye on me for a minute? I'm going over to the table to say hello, but just in case I'm not as sober as I think, and it looks like I'm about to smack her one, could you call my name? Just to get my attention so I can rein it back in."

"Just to say hello? Uh, huh. But sure, my pleasure. You'll have to tell me your name, though."

"Right. Of course. It's Kate." She picks up her bag and slides off the seat. "Wish me luck."

"You got it, Kate."

Before she turns around completely, she arranges her face into one of pleasant passivity, and takes a deep breath. Luckily, Gina's eyes are locked on Mystery Man, so she doesn't see the detective until she's standing a foot away.

"Why, Gina, what a surprise. I'd have thought you'd be out at the beach." Before the publisher can react, Kate extends her hand to the man. "Hello, I'm Kate Beckett."

He almost leaps from his chair, and pumps her hand. "Steve Harriman. No introduction necessary from you! You're the model for Nikki Heat, aren't you? In Richard Castle's book. He's Gina's ex, as I'm sure you know. Of course you do, you and he work together. More than just work I've heard." He winks when he says it, actually winks at her.

"Really? Where did you hear that?" She turns to Gina again. "And speaking of hearing things, a little bird told me that you have a fantastic weekend place in the Hamptons this summer. I'm surprised that you didn't invite Steve—I'm sorry, it is Steve, yes?—to stay out there with you. It's so hot here. Insufferably hot, don't you think?"

Having no intention of letting Gina answer, or speak at all, she immediately redirects herself to Steve. "Please, sit down." She smoothes the skirt of her dress, which needs no smoothing. "Don't stand on my account."

"Why don't you join us, Kate? Are you here with Rick?"

"No, no, I'm on my own. You and Gina and I can be a threesome." For good measure, she winks at him.

"Let me ask a waiter to bring another chair."

"That's so sweet, thank you."

One is passing by just then, so Steve snags him and makes the request. "This," Kate adds, and waits a few beats, "this lady has spilled something on her beautiful dress. Could you bring her some club soda, please? I'd hate to see it set in and leave a stain." Which it probably already has, she says silently and happily to herself as she sits down.

"So, Gina and Steve," she smiles brightly. "What brings you back to town when it's a thousand degrees? Is there some problem with the beach house? I have a friend who's had a terrible—" she lowers her voice dramatically—"infestation this summer."

Gina's skin is now several shades paler than her artificially pale hair, and as she picks up what remains of her drink with an unsteady hand, Steve answers cheerfully. "Oh, poor Gina has an awful housemate. She didn't pounce early enough in the summer rental frenzy, and she has to put up with this guy until Labor Day, don't you, darling? Even though the house is huge, she convinced me that I'd go insane spending even half an hour with him—says he's a boor and a bore—so I persuaded her to come into town for the weekend. A little staycation, but in a suite in the new boutique hotel on Gansevoort Street, rather than my apartment. Right around the corner from here."

"What a lovely idea," Kate says, before transferring her beam to Darling. "Castle told me that you always disliked the Meatpacking District, Gina. But of course this neighborhood has changed a lot in the last couple of years, hasn't it?" She taps Steve lightly on the wrist. "Is Steve here one of your discoveries? New stallion in the Black Pawn stable?"

"Oh, God, no," Steve says. I haven't the imagination to be a writer."

No shit, Kate doesn't say. "How did you two lovebirds meet, then?"

Gina finally manages to get a word in. "At a conference. Strictly business."

"Well, you seem very cozy. Been together long?"

"No, no," Steve gets in ahead of Gina. "Just a month ago she was seated opposite me in a board room. I'm a corporate lawyer, and I was representing the other side in a matter involving Black Pawn. I took one look at her and said, Steve, settle this thing right now because she's the girl for you. We wrapped everything up the next day and then I wrapped her up, didn't I?" He picks up Gina's hand and kisses it.

Kate tries not to gag. "You know, all this talk has me thirsty. I think I left my drink over on the bar when I came to say hi." She begins to get up, confident that the effusive Steve will get it for her.

"Stay here, Kate, I'll go."

"Thank you. The bartender is Neil. He might have cleared my glass away, but if you could remind him, I was just having a Virgin Mary."

"Nothing stronger, Kate?"

"Oh, no. I'm feeling strong enough as it is, thanks."

As soon as Steve is out of earshot, Gina hisses. "What's your game?"

"Game? I have none. It looks like you're playing one, though. A little dangerous, isn't it?"

"Drop it, Kate. You may be a good detective, but this isn't your case."

"I guess you're right. It's been fun snooping around, though. Oh, look, here's your very own personal corporate lawyer. Lucky he's not a bore, like Rick."

"Your tomato juice, Kate," he says, delivering the glass. "Neil is obviously a fan of yours, said it was on the house."

"Such a sweetheart, that guy. Thank you. Now, tell me all about your work, one law-and-orderer to another." She endures ten paralyzing minutes, punctuating his monologue with an occasional crunch of the celery stick that had come with her tomato juice. Then she stands up. "It's getting late, and I have an early start tomorrow. I'm sure you want to get back to your suite, tout de suite. Great spending time with you. Stay cool!" She leaves as fast as her four-inch high sandals will allow her; given her experience in shoes like this, it's very fast.

During the cab ride back to her apartment she tries to keep her mind blank. She'd enjoyed making Gina squirm, but what had it gotten her? That lying bitch is cheating on Castle. What the hell can she do? Call him up and say, "Hi, it's Beckett. Remember me? Gina's in bed with some snore of a lawyer but I'm available." She's not going to tell him about Gina. The thing is, he's bound to find out eventually. It'll probably break his heart, and she'd like to be the one who puts it back together, but how will she get the chance to do that?

As soon as she's home she gets undressed and runs a deep, cool bath. She slides down until she's completely submerged and doesn't come back up until she needs air. "Help." She slaps the water with her palms. "Help. Help. Help. Somebody help me." Oh, the Beatles. Her go-to guys for mood elevation. They may have broken up almost a decade before she was born, but they're in her blood. The year after her mother died their CD "1" had come out and she must have played it a thousand times, all the Beatles' No. 1 hits. It had gotten her through a lot of bad days and worse nights. This is a pretty bad night. She gets out of the tub; dries off; gets into an oversized, thin cotton tee shirt—the coolest thing she owns—puts on the CD, and hits track ten. She doesn't have to check; she knows what every track is. She's singing along as loud as she can:

Help me if you can, I'm feeling down,
And I do appreciate you being round.
Help me get my feet back on the ground
Won't you please, please help me?

She drops onto the couch. Who can she ask for help? Who in God's name can help her? She's pondering these questions when an enormous roar of thunder makes her gasp. It's followed, just seconds later, by lightning. The flash illuminates both the room and her brain; she suddenly knows exactly who might help. She only wishes that she could tell Castle that her inspiration had come quite literally in the form of a thunder bolt. She grabs her phone and scrolls through her contact list. Thank you, Lord, there it is. There she is, complete with her cell number.

She can text her. It's one-thirty in the morning, but so what? That's the beauty of texting: you can do it anytime without disturbing a person. If her textee is asleep, she'll read it in the morning. Time enough. She begins to type.

"I'm so sorry to bother you, and I may be the last person on earth you thought you'd hear from, but I really need your help. I screwed things up so badly with Castle, and I want to fix them. If you can see it in your heart to call me, I'd really appreciate it. Kate."

She opens the window to let in the gusts of wet, cooling air, and gets into bed. She might even be able to sleep since the heat seems to have broken, but before she can get comfortable, her phone rings.

"Katherine? Are you all right? It's Martha, darling. I got your text."

TBC

A/N There really is a section of Manhattan called the Meatpacking District and Gansevoort Street is part of it. Formerly home to slaughterhouses and meatpacking plants, it's now very chic.