Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional.


Week Four

"Hey, Gimpy, was that your personal nurse outside?" Matt calls out from the other side of the locker room, getting some hoots and interested comments from many of the other guys in the locker room. He's been here for a couple of years and wasn't at all happy about adding an "oldster" to the team. As a result, he tends to be an instigator, looking to have fun at Castle's expense. He's generally harmless, if annoying, though Castle's feeling a bit exposed just now.

With so many groups in the company, Castle's having trouble learning everyone's names, which is made worse with the constantly shifting assignment schedules. But as (bad) luck would have it, Castle's ended up with Matt several times already.

"For the last time," Castle says in exasperation, "my ankle's fine. There's no way that mechanical bull was a mindless automaton – it was definitely sentient and it definitely didn't like me," he grumbles.

"But that wasn't the hottie from the club, the one you said took you dancing," Big John presses, more curious to push Castle for details than to join Matt's teasing. "What's the deal with you and blondes?"

"No, that wasn't my friend from the club," Castle admits, shaking his head while he dries himself off. "That was my editor. She stopped by – unexpectedly – to make sure I'm actually working, that this isn't some story to keep her off my back."

That prompts some lascivious laughter and Castle instantly regrets creating the obvious set up. Matt, of course, obliges.

"Forget 'off your back,'" he cackles. "Give me her number and I'll help her onto hers. That'll take care of it – she'll be too amazed by me to think about you," he challenges while others groan at his tired bravado. Matt manages to strut for a few ridiculous steps before someone whips his flank with a rolled-up towel.

"That'd be great," Castle enthuses, catching the guys off guard. "I'll give you her number – you should totally take her out, work your magic," Castle challenges, watching several of his colleagues smirk as Matt stutters in discomfort at having been called out. "I'll even set it up myself," Castle says with a smug grin.

"Why? What's wrong with her?" Matt asks, wary and backpedaling. "Is she sick or something?" he asks, watching Castle shake his head. "Psycho?" he asks again, and Castle pauses briefly to pull a look of exaggerated thought before shaking his head again. "Married?" Matt presses, still trying to figure out what's wrong with this situation.

"Not anymore," Castle confides with a smile. "We've been divorced for years," he says happily, conveniently ignoring last summer's disastrously poor decision to consider a reconciliation. "And while she's not a nurse, she used to have this costume…"

"No, thanks," Matt says flatly, happy to have an excuse that lets him slip away from living up to his boasts. "I wouldn't want to get burned by an old flame of yours. Now, if you wanted to set me up with that blonde from the club…"

"Trust me, Matty," Castle replies with a laugh, "she wouldn't give you the time of day."

"So," a small redhead named Sully interjects, "that your girl's baby mama? She looks good – total mi…"

"Don't be crude," Castle interrupts repressively. He's getting increasingly uncomfortable, his hopes for a quick extraction from the situation Gina created with her unanticipated (and unwelcomed) visit foiled by his colleagues' interest in his personal life. There's probably some irony there, he thinks, or karmic retribution. "No," he admits with a shrug that's too nonchalant. "Gina and I married when Alexis was a girl."

"Wait, wait, wait," Kevin enters the conversation, waving his hands around. "Where's your girl's mom? And when're we gonna meet your daughter?"

"California and never," Castle replies quickly, tugging his clothes on. "You must be absolutely crazy if you think I'd let my angel meet you hooligans." Interested in ending this conversation quickly and perhaps slipping away from tonight's outing, Castle starts tugging on his boots before remembering his socks.

"What'sa matter, Rick?" Big John teases. "Afraid your girl might get starry-eyed? I mean, now that we know poetry and everything."

"Please," Castle denies too quickly, his concern obvious. "My girl sees through me, so she'd see you coming a mile away."

"But that's the thing, isn't it?" Dave chuckles from Castle's side. Usually soft-spoken (and blessedly married, Castle thinks), he's the quiet giant of the group, usually content to do his job, soak in the atmosphere for a bit, then go home. Of course, Castle hasn't known him long, so who knows how he was when he started here? A guy who's a dead ringer for a medieval blacksmith, from the barrel chest to the bushy hair, probably enjoyed some attention of his own. "The ladies like the bad-boys, don't they? Even when they know they shouldn't. Plus, add in the possibility of daddy's disapproval…"

"That's it, I'm out of here," Castle grumps, grabbing his coat. "Time to go buy a shotgun," he grumbles as he reaches for his locker before Dave closes it shut.

"Not so fast, newbie," Dave rumbles, voice low and confident. "You've got a different appointment tonight, remember?"

Castle's just winding up to pull out another stalling story before he feels hands clamp on each shoulder. "That's right," Big John says, using all 5 feet and 2 inches of his authority to try to intimidate Castle. "You gotta visit Tiny. After which you're buying drinks, right?"

Rubbing his forehead with his hand and trying to figure out how he gets himself into these situations, Castle relents with a sigh. "Alright, let's get this over with."

"That's the spirit!" Matt says with annoying cheerfulness. "There's a bar next to Tiny's place. We'll watch you get started, then go get the drinks ready. Faster you join us, the better the chance there'll be something left for you."

"Yeah," Tommy agrees. "And don't worry – win another fight and we'll buy you another drink."

"What a bargain," Castle grouses before his colleagues escort him on the short walk to the appointment he's been dreading.


"So, you wanna explain how this isn't doing exactly what we're not supposed to do?" Esposito asks as Ryan holds the door open for them, reveling in the chance to tease Beckett. The doorman waves them through with a cheerful smile, always happy to see Beckett. She gives him a smile that disappears quickly when she turns back to her partners.

"We're pursuing a lead," she says again, her comment sounding hollow in her own ears. "We get assistance on cases from outsiders all the time," she continues, realizing that she should practice this explanation in case it becomes necessary again. "Besides, we're not in the precinct and we're not here to see Castle. Martha knows the industry in general and Temptation Lane in particular. Her insight into the inner workings of the show could be very helpful."

"Right," Esposito says flatly as he watches the elevator doors open and starts to walk through. Ryan chucks his shoulder and gives him a cross look as he puts a hand in front of the retracted doors, waiting for Beckett to precede them into the elevator. Rolling his eyes at his partner's antiquated manners, Esposito makes a sweeping gesture and bow to motion Beckett ahead.

"Thank you, Kevin," Beckett says kindly, pointedly ignoring Esposito. The nonsense with the boys is actually a welcome distraction as they approach the loft, one that keeps her from dwelling on her last visit here.

"I'm surprised Ms. R. is up and willing to entertain guests already," Ryan comments as the elevator rises. "I never had the impression she's much of a morning person."

"I was surprised, too," Beckett admits, "I'd just meant to leave a voicemail for later."

"Maybe little Castle'll still be around," Esposito notes as the elevator stops on the top floor. "Be nice to see her again, make sure her dad's not driving her crazy."

"Not sure I'd ask it like that, Espo," Beckett says as she leads them out of the elevator and to Castle's door, which is already ajar. "She's actually kind of fond of him." Knocking on the door and opening it a few inches, Beckett calls out "Martha?"

"Come in, darlings, come in!" Martha trills as she approaches. Beckett thought that she'd prepared herself for all of the possible outfits and color combinations that Castle's mother might display. But instead, Martha approaches wearing something that surprises even Beckett and raises alarms in her mind as she recalls comments that Castle made over the years.

As if hypnotized by the odd swirl of discordant colors, Beckett's unable to look away from the kitchen apron before Martha embraces her in a welcoming hug, leaving Beckett shocked and sniffing an odd combination of expensive perfume with a hint of Bloody Mary. Her only consolation is that her team members look even more stunned by the greeting hugs than she must look herself.

"Right this way, darlings," Martha insists as she herds them toward the kitchen island, on which three place-settings are already prepared, with glasses of orange juice waiting. Martha's tall red drink is on the counter next to the stove, and Beckett finds herself wondering if she wouldn't be better served by something like that rather than OJ, regulations be damned. On the way to the island, she casts a surreptitious glance around the loft. It's changed a bit since she was last here – the piano's been turned in place and the pictures rearranged. But she can't tell if any have been replaced or put away.

"Martha, there's no need…," she tries to interject after turning her attention back to her hostess, to no avail.

"Nonsense, Katherine," Martha trills as she turns on the flame beneath a waiting pan. "We're not savages, we're allowed to have a meal with our conversation. Besides, I'm already set up after seeing Alexis off to school this morning."

Beckett nods, wondering if that's why Castle's daughter is already gone – maybe she departed early to get something to eat on the way to Marlowe Prep?

"Ha!" Esposito laughs as he bellies up to the kitchen island, undaunted or unaware of Martha's cooking reputation. "So Castle's sleeping in?" he asks with a devilish look toward Castle's office, clearly thinking of how they might awaken him with some mischief.

"He's not back yet, dear," Martha explains as she looks at the bowl on the counter with some confusion, apparently wondering if she's already added certain ingredients or not. Meanwhile, Ryan and Esposito cast each other looks of raised-brow surprise.

"Walk of shame, eh?" Esposito laughs. "We might have to draw this conversation out – I'd like to be here when he gets back." Ryan nods vigorously, until he sees the look on Beckett's face.

"He's at work, dear," Martha explains gently as she turns and pats Esposito's hand, "though he should be home soon." Turning back to the dilemma of whatever's in the bowl, she perhaps isn't as attentive to her words as she'd normally be. "And don't worry, Javier, you'll find someone special someday, then it won't feel like shame."

Unfortunately, both boys had just taken gulps of orange juice, so both end up coughing wildly in an effort not to spit all over the kitchen island. Ryan's laughing, which only deepens Esposito's sputtering discomfort at Martha's comment.

Martha, meanwhile, shrugs away any confusion, haphazardly adds some spices to the bowl, and pours the contents – an egg mixture, by the looks of it – into the waiting pan. Then, pushing a few buttons on the microwave, she turns back to them with her drink in one hand and a dripping spatula in the other.

"I was heartbroken to hear about Sarah Cutler, of course. Temptation Lane is a favorite of mine and I know so many of the cast and writers. In fact, I've been thinking about reconnecting with of them," she says, looking wistful. "Perhaps I should renew my acquaintances? Would that help your investigation?"

With Ryan and Esposito casting each other looks about how eager Martha seems, Beckett takes it upon herself to collect some information from Castle's mother without getting her overly excited about the case. The truth is that her insight might be valuable, and there might be a reason to accept her offer. But, they need to trace out the possibilities for the case, first, to see if that would make sense. Plus, she's wondering if she should pull Castle aside to make sure there are no objections to involving his mother in their investigation.

As Martha continues sharing her knowledge and gossip about Temptation Lane in particular and daytime television shows in general, she ladles eggs onto the three waiting plates, before reaching into the microwave to extract the bowl of black beans that also gets split three ways. Thankful that she can use the excuse of conducting the interview to refrain from eating, Beckett notices the boys set to their plates with zeal. Ryan stops immediately but Esposito's managed to shovel three forkfuls into his mouth before he freezes in place with cheeks bulging, taste buds finally over-riding instinct.

Trying not to laugh at his distress as he tries to decide whether he should choke down the food or find a way to spit it out, Beckett continues to chat with Martha. Deftly using her fork to surreptitiously move the food around her plate, she's proud that her efforts make it look like she's taken a few bites.

Salvation, for Esposito at least, arrives as Castle trudges into the loft. He's a sight for sore eyes, Beckett thinks as she watches him unceremoniously drop his bag and whatever he was carrying on the foyer floor. His jacket slides easily from his slumped shoulders, leaving him in faded jeans and a careworn sweater. He almost drops the jacket as he tries to hang it up, his efforts interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. Coat stowed, he seems to waver, unsure of what he's supposed to do next. After a few moments he realizes that he's still wearing his boots. With a sigh, he appears to be building the energy necessary to remove them.

"Richard, you didn't drive that ridiculous machine home, did you?" Martha calls out as she turns back to the stove to make breakfast for her son. With her attention on the pan and the boys looking at Castle, Beckett quickly scrapes her food onto her team members' plates before turning back to Castle.

"No, Mother," Castle manages through another yawn, as he stands up, his battle with his footwear complete. "I left it there and took a cab. I'll get it after…," he trails off, finally noticing his former team ensconced in his kitchen.

Beckett's not sure how to handle her greeting with Castle now that he's here. The decision to visit Martha suddenly seems like a bad idea. Thankfully, movement from Ryan and Esposito covers her discomfort and allows them all a way forward. The boys have swarmed Castle, turning him around while offering back-slapping hugs and wide smiles as they thank him for their upcoming trip to Vegas. Beckett approaches slowly, not wanting to intrude on their fun but still wanting to greet Castle.

"Hey, Castle," she says when there's finally a lull in the conversation. Her greeting smile falters when he turns and takes a half-step backwards in alarm, surprised by her close proximity.

"Hey, Beckett," he stumbles a recovery, trying to play off his involuntary reaction. Embarrassed by his lack of manners, he offers a hug that Beckett would've missed had she blinked. "Enjoying a late breakfast?" he asks, already stepping away.

It's a casual question, but effective at enabling his escape, Beckett realizes. His question draws Martha into the conversation, allowing her to exclaim in proud tones how much "darling Katherine" enjoyed her cooking and to admonish the boys for their poor effort. While she's talking, Castle sidles over to his mother to offer her a kiss on the cheek, after which he takes a quick look into the pan on the stove and grimaces. Had she been hugged like an old friend rather than an estranged or barely-tolerated relative, the whole exchange would've left Beckett smiling.

"Your mom was helping us with a case," Ryan offers, picking up on some discomfort and offering a way forward even if he's not completely aware of what's going on. "She's given us quite a bit to go on," he praises, noticing the nods from Esposito and Beckett. Martha, meanwhile, beams at the kind words.

"Don't let me get in the way," Castle says pleasantly before yawning again. "I promised Bob I'd stay on the sidelines. Besides, I haven't slept in… what day is it?" he asks, looking honestly befuddled for a moment as he rubs his face. "Actually, it doesn't matter. I'm going to bed."

"Richard, you need to eat," Martha chides as only a mother can, though Castle's already on the move.

"Too tired," he mumbles in reply, still moving forward. "Later."

"Goodnight, dear," Martha calls out as she turns off the stove with a look of relief.

But Castle's already gone, disappeared behind the bookshelf walls of his office. The only audible response is the sound of a large man flopping onto a bed.

The sudden arrival and departure of their former consultant seems to dampen the team's conversation for a moment, which Beckett prolongs by checking her notes. Martha, meanwhile, chides the boys to finish their breakfast, too busy flitting about the kitchen to notice the dark looks they shoot at Beckett. While they try to choke down enough food to be polite, Beckett asks a few last questions before promising Martha they'll bring her into the investigation, perhaps even to the studio, if it looks like that might advance the case.

Finally taking pity on her teammates, Beckett inflates the urgency of some tidbit from Martha and suggests that they get right back to the precinct to work on it. Only too happy to abandon their plates, Ryan and Esposito are out the door in a flash, though not before thanking Martha profusely. She drove to the loft separately, so Beckett takes the opportunity to linger, helping Martha clean up.

"He's okay, isn't he?" Beckett asks quietly as she carries some dishes to the sink, suddenly wary of making eye contact.

"He misses you," Martha says kindly as she pats Beckett on the arm as she walks by. "He hasn't explained much about what's going on, but it's clear that all of this," she says with a sweeping gesture, "is about more than what the mayor needs."

"I miss him, too," Beckett confesses.

"I've encouraged him to leave," Martha says in reply, startling Beckett. "Several times. Oh, don't look put out, Katherine," Martha says, stopping her cleaning efforts to turn and focus on Beckett. "Surely you know my son well enough to know that he'd be wary of anything about which I hadn't registered a complaint," she says with a laugh. "Reverse psychology has worked very well with Richard since he was a young man, as even he knows. As much as he complains about my advice, he knows where it comes from." Concerned that Beckett doesn't seem to be following her explanation, Martha clarifies. "I encouraged him to leave," she stresses, wondering if Beckett is understanding her point, "because I thought it was best that he stayed. And it was."

Beckett nods in agreement, but finds herself struggling with how to reply. Thinking about how things used to be makes her uncomfortable, and it seems too early to confide her hopes that he'll come back to Martha.

"What about now?" she asks instead, putting Martha on the spot. "I know you shouldn't tell me what he's doing, but is it safe?"

"Katherine, working at the precinct wasn't safe," Martha replies, prompting Beckett to remember that in addition to being Broadway Martha Rodgers, the woman next to her is a mother, innately concerned about the welfare of her child. "It wasn't safe, but it helped him mature. Perhaps his current endeavor will do the same."

Beckett feels her stomach drop at Martha's carefully crafted response. "So, he isn't safe," she surmises.

"His new position has its perils, but it might also foster his growth," Martha says. Watching her carefully, Beckett curses her acting talent, which hides many of the tells for which Beckett would normally look. "Plus," Martha adds with a sly look, "even if he works some late nights, his schedule is more regular than it was at the precinct."

Feeling upset about the reference to "perils" and petty that Castle might be in a new situation that serves him well despite the lack of her presence, Beckett feels a little adrift.

"I should go," she says, unable to stop from glancing at the door to Castle's office. "Thank you so much, Martha, for your insights for our case. It's been so helpful that I feel greedy asking for one more thing."

"Oh, Katherine," Martha replies, "it's been a pleasure. Besides," she says while looking every inch the grand dame, "I'm fully capable of saying no. So, what would you like to ask?"

"Would you please call me," Beckett asks, buoyed by Martha's engagement in the conversation, "if he needs help? Things might be strained right now, but he's still my friend."

Martha stares at Beckett for a few moments before surprising her with a fierce hug. "Thank you, Katherine," she murmurs. "Of course I'll call."

Martha releases Beckett and falls into step beside her as she steps towards the door, chatting again about how she'd be happy to visit the set of Temptation Lane if it would help the case. Beckett's assuring her again that they'll call when she trails off, her attention captured by the object Castle dropped on top of his bag when he arrived. "Martha, is that…"

"A 'brain bucket' as he insists on calling it?" she replies with rolled eyes and a look of distaste. "Richard decided that his cars were 'too ostentatious' for his current assignment," she scoffs. "So, he bought a run-down excuse for a motorized bicycle from someone there who was moving away."

"Even after all his concerns about scooters?" Beckett asks with a laugh.

"Oh, Alexis was quick to point out the double-standard, don't you worry," Martha laughs. "But Richard claims it's part of his character research." Martha's tone makes it clear that everyone knows that's a convenient excuse. "He nearly purchased a motorcycle when he was a younger man, but Alexis arrived and cooler heads prevailed. Instead, he's purchased a machine that's probably older than his daughter," she says with an affectionate shake of her head. "I think he has aspirations of restoring it to its former glory. He's rather obvious with his metaphors."


"Hey, Castle, thanks for coming in," Montgomery says as he stands and walks around his desk to pump Castle's hand in greeting.

"I don't recall this visit sounding optional," Castle replies, still looking around a little nervously and apparently gladdened to see that there aren't many detectives around.

"Hey," Montgomery ripostes, "I could've had you hauled in. Only problem there would've been choosing among all the officers who woulda volunteered for the job."

"I try not to repeat my previous escapades," Castle laughs as he unslings a light backpack and takes a seat in a guest chair, "not when there are so many novel possibilities. I've already seen the inside of Holding, so we'd need to try something new."

"And you're clothed, barely, so we don't have to worry about any police horses, either," Montgomery jibes, laughing at Castle's rolled eyes. "Seriously, though, what's with the outfit?"

Castle looks down at his black Inklings t-shirt and gray basketball shorts, then shrugs. "I'm a pretty good writer, right?" he asks rhetorically, continuing on even though Montgomery is nodding. "I do a fair job at crafting evocative language to describe a scene or chronicle a character's development. And you know I'm a stickler for diction and grammar."

"And tediously long explanations," Montgomery interjects, which Castle ignores.

"Despite all that talent," he says with a haughty look, "I'm completely at a loss in trying to describe exactly how much I despise running."

"Can't skip the cardio," Montgomery agrees with a smirk. "Were you actually out running when I called?" he asks, pointing to the band around Castle's left arm holding his phone in place or the white earbuds draped around his neck.

"I was just leaving the loft," Castle admits. "As to whether I was 'running' afterward, I think it would be more accurate to say that I was pounding my knees into hamburger by staggering through the streets of New York."

"You really sell it," Montgomery laughs, "but I think I'll stick with the treadmill, thanks. So," he says, noticing Castle's nervous glance out toward the bullpen again. "You're probably wondering why I asked you to come in. And how quickly you can leave."

Castle shrugs, uncomfortable. "It's just awkward," he admits.

"They're in the field, so you don't need to worry about it," Montgomery dismisses with a wave of his hand. "I've got some forms I need you to sign to cover your leave of absence," he says, shuffling some papers.

"My what?" Castle laughs. "How can I take a leave of absence from someplace I wasn't employed?" he asks shrewdly.

"That's the best way for us to process the paperwork so it's easy for you to return," Montgomery says nonchalantly.

"Look, Roy," Castle replies uncomfortably, running a hand through his sweaty hair. "I don't know…," he starts, then loses his nerve with that approach. "I'm not sure I'm coming back."

Nodding and adopting what he hopes is a sympathetic face, Montgomery presses forward. "This isn't a commitment or a contract, Castle," he assures. "It's just an acknowledgment that you're not here now, so any trouble that you cause doesn't go on our tab."

"Oh," Castle answers with a smile. "That's fine. About three weeks too late, though," he pushes with a raised brow. He dashes a signature on the forms with a flourish, then spins them on the desktop so that they're facing Montgomery again.

"Nice signature, Dr. Inigo Montoya," Montgomery offers in a flat voice after glancing at the forms.

"Thanks," Castle mugs it up. "I figure a fake signature is the best way to sign fake forms. So tell me," he says, cutting a glance again at Beckett's desk, "why am I really here?"

"I need to know if I can count on you," Montgomery says seriously, his tone of voice dispelling the air of frivolity resulting from his fictitious forms. "I need to know if Beckett can count on you."

"You're still not being straight with me," Castle charges in reply, starting to get riled. "My willingness to help Beckett was never questioned before."

"She's never been on as dangerous a path before," Montgomery replies. His maintained calm deflates Castle's indignation and prompts a pensive look from the writer.

"Which means she definitely won't ask for help," Castle replies, though his even tone suggests this isn't an accusation but instead some insight gleaned from working beside her for years.

Shaking his head, Montgomery disagrees. "You weren't gone a week before she met with Weldon to figure out how to get you back here," he says while leveling a stare at a surprised Castle. "And she's spent the last couple weeks building a file to sing your praises so we can prove you have a place here. You gonna turn your back on that?"

"I've told her that I'll help with whatever she needs," Castle says after a few moments to process the thought of Beckett actually taking affirmative steps to enable his return to the precinct. "But I made a promise to Bob. And I've got other commitments now."

"A month ago," Montgomery replies with quiet anger, "you would've moved heaven and earth to help that woman. Now you can't fit her into your schedule? Some friend you are."

Clenching his jaw, Castle bites back the words that he'd like to let fly. He's swallowed so many of them in the last few weeks that they're just bursting to escape, and here's Montgomery, pouring salt into still-open wounds. "You don't know what you're talking about," Castle growls.

"I think I do," Montgomery replies. "I think you let your hurt feelings and bruised ego lead you to some stupid decisions," he rails quietly. "I know what you're doing now, and I know what kind of things that required," he charges. "And how long you must've been thinking about it and making preparations before you pulled the trigger."

"I didn't do anything until I was forced out," Castle answers with some fire of his own. "And I wouldn't have left on my own. But I needed to have something to do if she asked me to leave, so, yeah, I'd made some preparations."

This insight into Beckett's partnership with Castle seems to set Montgomery back a bit, makes him wonder about what was going on before Weldon interfered. Apparently, Castle not only thought it likely that Beckett would ask him to leave, but it sounds like he was going to go if she asked. That's a radical change from the early days of their partnership. He finds himself wondering what would've happened if the mayor's plan hadn't forced the issue. Maybe he did them a favor.

A knock on the door startles Montgomery and Castle from their ruminations. "Hey, Cap," Esposito says from the doorway while staring at Castle, obviously surprised to see him in the precinct. "We've got a collar in the Cutler case. Castle," he says while shifting his gaze, "your mom was a big help."

"Excellent," Montgomery praises, ignoring the annoyed look Castle shoots his way while standing to depart. His motion is all the invitation Esposito needs to open the office door all the way and enter, trailed closely by Ryan and Beckett.

"Hey, Castle," Ryan says on the way in. "Thought you weren't supposed to be here?"

"Lingering paperwork," Castle says good-naturedly while extending a hand to greet Ryan, nodding to the stack of papers Montgomery's sweeping into a manila folder.

"Thought you didn't do paperwork?" Esposito teases.

"I don't. Can you imagine how much thicker that file would be if I did?" Castle agrees with a smile before turning to shake Esposito's hand.

In return for the crack about paperwork, Esposito slaps the upper part of Castle's arm with his left hand while he shakes hands with his right. Nobody misses Castle's hiss or flinch at the contact.

"What the hell?" Esposito asks as he lifts the sleeve of Castle's t-shirt to reveal a white bandage wrapped around his right bicep. "Is that a tattoo under there?"

Reaching over with his left hand to tug his sleeve back down, Castle shakes his head and casts Montgomery another dark look for his 'don't worry, they're in the field' assurances. "Not everyone," he sighs in resignation, "is satisfied with an espresso machine. Some initiation expectations are a little more painful."

"You didn't," Montgomery asks in a low tone, shaking his head and getting only a shrug in reply. "Oh, brother," is the only reply the Captain can muster. "Go on, get out of here before you get us all in trouble. We still on for poker on Saturday?"

Castle nods, glad to show that their earlier harsh words have no lasting effect.

"Good, I'll give you hell there," Montgomery says roughly. "And I'll take your money."

"First time for everything," Castle answers with a nonchalant shrug. "Can I borrow Beckett for a second before I go?"

Startled at being singled out and by Castle's interest in speaking with her, Beckett looks quickly to at her Captain and gets a look of approval. "Break room?" she suggests to Castle's nod.

Castle reaches down to pick up his backpack before following her out. Stopping at the door, he turns back to Montgomery. "About that thing you asked me," he says, getting a nod from Montgomery and confused looks from the boys. "Of course you can count on me. I'm insulted you even had to ask."

"Good man," Montgomery replies with a satisfied nod.

Beckett's already in the break room when Castle arrives, working the espresso machine. "Make you one?" she offers, looking like she's trying to act as if everything is normal, though she's clearly curious about what Castle's up to.

"No, thanks," Castle replies. "It's a long way home and I'm not sure coffee will help," he shrugs.

"Never figured you for a runner, Castle," Beckett says to break the air of fragile tension. "You never mentioned an interest in the past. Quite the opposite, actually."

"I'm not a runner, more of a gasper," he admits with a smile, using small talk to procrastinate. "And 'runner' implies some ability to move at speed. I'm slow, Beckett. So slow I seem to move backwards. I only made it to the precinct because I gave up and tried to go home."

Beckett blows out a huff at that, grateful for the delayed discussion, too, it seems. "Maybe you're not trying hard enough," she suggests. "It's a long way from the loft and you barely broke a sweat."

"I've got clothes down in the locker room that disprove your theory," Castle admits. "Montgomery may have pulled me in unexpectedly, but that's no reason to mess up his guest chair."

"Well, it suits you. You look great," Beckett says quietly before growing uncomfortable and turning to tend to her drink.

Deciding that procrastinating is just making things more awkward, Castle dives in. "Thank you for including mother in your investigation," he says earnestly. "She really enjoyed herself and it helped her reconnect with some old friends. It was kind of you to think of her."

"She was wonderful," Beckett murmurs, making note again of the tight bonds of Castle's tiny family. "And very helpful," she says, thinking both of the case and Martha's other comments.

"If she can help again, please call her. She'd love to hear from you," he says in an odd tone, putting Beckett on edge. "Will you do me a favor, though, please?" he asks, waiting for her nod. "Just drop me a text next time you're going to visit. I'm sorry about the awkward greeting," he says while running a hand through his hair, "but you were about the last person I expected to see in the loft. The last person I was ready to see."

"Oh," Beckett answers quietly, looking down at her mug.

"Look, I know this is the height of hypocrisy," Castle admits with a grimace. "But I need someplace safe, just until we're in a better place. I thought I was doing well," he says, chagrined, "but just seeing you set me back weeks."

"I'm sorry," Beckett apologizes, wondering if he knows why she's apologizing, what it covers aside from her surprise visit. "I miss you. I've been thinking about what you said. You were right. About a lot of it."

"We'll get there, Beckett," Castle affirms, seemingly unwilling to get into a deeper discussion. "It's just going to take some time." That said, he lifts his pack and is about to put it on when he remembers the reason he has it in the first place, aside from a place to store the change of clothes he brought to the precinct. "I didn't think you were going to be here," he babbles an explanation as he reaches into the bag and pulls a large envelope from a clipboard, handing it to her. "I was going to leave this on your desk."

"Please tell me it's not another goodbye card?" Beckett tries to joke.

"No," Castle replies quietly. "Just something you'll pretend not to like. Take care, Kate," he says as he slings on the pack and dons his earbuds to signal his departure. Realizing that her chance to say something meaningful to him is about to expire, Beckett steps forward quickly and halts his departure with a gentle hand on his forearm.

"Castle, I'm honoring your request for time and privacy, but I'm really looking forward to seeing you at Remy's," she reminds him, "unless you'd be willing to meet before then. There are things that I want to tell you, but I'll wait as you asked. Just, please don't try too hard to forget about me?" she asks with quiet hope and sincerity.

In response, Castle looks at her hand on his arm, then at her face. He looks like he wants to say something but then changes his mind. Finally, he simply nods, departing silently as Beckett lifts her hand to let him go.

Returning to her coffee, Beckett decides that there's no need to return to Montgomery's office. The boys can provide the details on the arrest and Montgomery can check in with her if he has any questions. Instead, she takes a few minutes to do what she'd described to Lanie – just take some time to sit and think. She resolves to do that while she drinks her coffee, and further resolves to leave the envelope from Castle unopened until she's finished her cup. So it is that Kate Beckett, frenetic workaholic, actually sits in relative peace for nearly ten minutes. But as calm as those initial minutes prove to be, by the time she can see the bottom of her mug she's worked up again, anxious to see what's in the envelope.

Downing the last of her coffee, she reaches for the envelope and eagerly tears it open. She's shaking her head and wearing a sweet smile before the autographed photo from the cast and crew of Temptation Lane is even halfway free of the envelope. The juxtaposition stirs conflicted, contradictory feelings. There's Josh, who didn't know about Johanna and didn't exactly impress her with his reaction. And then there's Castle, who somehow knew that she was a closet T-Laner without being told and provided her with a gift even during their current estrangement. She doesn't know if she should be thrilled that he's still thinking of her or depressed that he gave her the photo after asking her to leave him alone.


"What about the lady in the red dress?" Castle asks while Fred nibbles on her udon. After a casual glance to her side, she looks back at Castle.

"No way," she answers. "Totally straight. But unattached. Maybe you should go introduce yourself."

"Nope," Castle answers happily, popping the "p" before stealing a noodle from her plate. "I'm just the wing-man today. You're the pilot."

"Then we're going down in flames," Fred grouses with good humor. "Seriously, you need to be ready to start dating, Rick. We'd be unstoppable – something to offer any single woman."

"I'm good," he replies easily, still comfortable with his time out from the dating scene.

"That's what I keep telling the ladies," Fred replies with a wicked smile. "So when you're ready, you'll have a reputation to live up to."

Castle's smiling and preparing for his reply when Fred's cell phone rings. She apologizes and moves to reject the call until she sees the number. "Sorry, I have to take this," she apologizes. Answering the phone while she rises, Fred walks off to stand next to the front door of the wonderful Asian restaurant at which she met him for lunch, separated from the dining area by a wall of glass.

Initially using the opportunity to scan the restaurant for other options for Fred, Castle finds his attention drawn back to her. Whatever the call's about, it's not good news. Fred looks agitated, waving her arms around and appearing to speak in short, staccato bursts. Each minute that passes leaves Fred looking more upset, until she finally disconnects her call, looking crestfallen. She takes a few moments to collect herself before returning to the table where Castle rises to greet her.

"I'm sorry, Rick, but I need to go," she apologizes, standing next to the table as if she's going to spin on her heel and leave immediately.

"Hold on," he says, walking around the table to hold her chair out for her. "Just take five minutes to tell me what's wrong – maybe I can help."

"I doubt it," she answers, though she takes her seat. "It's about work."

"I've done work before," Castle answers with a sly smile as he returns to his seat. "It was a long time ago, but I think I still remember how. I suppose I could do it again." When he sees a grudging smile, he reaches out and taps her hand. "So, talk."

"That was the business manager at the Clairborne," Fred explains. "It's the venue for our biggest marketing event of the year. At least it was supposed to be," she says bitterly. "But the chef just got caught shtupping two of the hostesses. His wife, who actually owns the majority stake in the restaurant, is shutting it down, effective immediately and lawsuits be damned. It's dirty and nasty and now I'm completely screwed."

"So we'll find a new venue," Castle shrugs. "There's only about half a million of them in New York. No problem."

"Rick, our event is a week from next Friday. There's no way," Fred laments, getting upset, "absolutely no way we can find the right kind of place by then."

"Without me, probably not," he boasts. "But I know a thing or two about throwing parties."

"You don't get it, Rick," she answers, looking angry that he's minimizing her efforts. "I spend all year planning this. It isn't some beer bash in a backyard. It's the single most important business development event our firm hosts, and it's my responsibility. And…," she trails off, looking down.

"And?" Castle prompts, squeezing her hand.

"And it was going to be my job application, my magnum opus," she confesses, still looking down. "I'm sorry, Rick, I didn't want to tell you about this."

"So, it sounds like your hopes to move are to a new place, not just a new firm?" he surmises. "I'm your friend, Fred, not some porcelain doll. You're supposed to confide in me."

"I want to go home," she admits in a small voice. "I was so ready to leave after Susan broke things off," she admits. "You've been the only ray of sunshine for me since then. But I'm tired of my New York experiment. I wanted to knock this event out of the park and then use it to get a good offer from a place in LA."

"How many people are we talking about?" Castle asks, breaking out his rarely-seen pragmatism.

"Almost two hundred, all in," Fred whispers. "About 120 of our best clients and their partners, about 30 from the firm, and about 30 from the modeling agency we use for most of our campaigns."

"Wait, wait, wait," Castle says, waving his hands. "Models? Maybe I'm closer to being ready than I thought."

"You have a thing for models, Rick?" Fred asks, convinced that he's talking nonsense.

"Kryptonite, Keates," he says with a laugh while surprising them both by using her surname. "They're my kryptonite."

"That I can believe," she says with a shake of her head. "An imaginary limitation on even more imaginary skills and abilities," she laughs, looking at his look of deep offense.

"You'll see," he promises, "you'll see. Now, are you wed to a stodgy, pretentious location or would you be willing to consider something a little more trendy?"

"Pretentious?" Fred growls in return. "You were listening when I said I spend all year planning this, right? The Clairborne is not stodgy or pretentious."

"Not if your guests are driving up in their Studebakers or expecting to dance the Lindy," Castle replies, getting punched in the shoulder for his comments. "So, would something more on the up-and-coming side work?"

"Anything would work," she grouses. "Since otherwise we'll probably have to find a park somewhere."

"Okay, let me make a call," he says, nodding toward where Fred had retreated to receive her bad news. "One option comes immediately to mind, but there're others, too."

"Rick, stop being ridiculous," Fred replies, edging from angry to resigned. "It's sweet of you to offer, but you don't have any idea what goes into something like this. And I don't want you to work yourself into a state about it."

"Oh, the arrogance of youth," Castle sighs with exaggerated condescension. "Padawan, you should've come to me about this sooner – then you really would've had a party for the ages. But we can work with what we've got. Trust me," he says as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, opening it and plucking out his driver's license, "I know what I'm doing. Use your phone for a few internet searches while I'm on my call. Google is probably my best resume, just don't believe anything from Page Six." Then, after handing his license to her so that she can finally know his real name, Castle retreats to the entryway.

Selecting a number from his contacts, Castle looks up to check on Fred as he lifts his phone to his ear. Her eyebrows are already in her hairline and her mouth is open. Probably Page Six, he thinks morosely. Maybe TMZ.

"Rick?" he hears as his call is answered. "Is that you? Is Becks okay?"

"Hey, Maddie," Castle says in a friendly voice, turning his back on Fred so he can focus on his call. "Everything's fine," he says in reply, setting that topic aside rather than lie about it. "I was actually calling with a proposition for you."

"If it involves tequila or chocolate syrup, the answer is yes," Maddie replies wickedly, making Castle recall exactly how flirtatious Beckett's old friend can be. Were it not for the Beckett connection, maybe… "And if it involves both," she interjects again, "I can be there in 20 minutes."

"You know what, Maddie?" Castle replies with his own roguish tone, "I was wrong. I think I might have several propositions for you," he corrects himself, delighting in her chiming laugh. "But, business first. What's Q3's maximum occupancy?"

If Maddie is thrown by the sudden shift from flirty banter to commercial interests, she doesn't show it. Castle recalls that she was a fierce businesswoman, as she'd have to be to survive in New York's restaurant scene. "Two-eighteen," she answers promptly. "Including staff. Why, are you looking for a venue? Are you and Becks…"

"No," Castle replies, probably too firmly. "Absolutely not. How would you feel about hosting the annual business development soiree for Aegis Marketing?"

"Are you kidding me?" Maddie practically shouts into the phone. "Do you have any idea what kind of coverage events like that get? I've been trying to land one of those parties since before I opened," she confesses.

"That's the good news," Castle admits, using his tone as well as his words to signal the arrival of a tougher request. "Now for the bad news – what would you have to do to host the party on April 8th?"

"You are kidding me," Maddie answers. When Castle doesn't reply, she starts thinking out loud. "Really? Well, we're booked. So that's about 80 parties of different sizes, plus some vacancies for VIPs," she rattles off. "I'm looking down the list, Rick, and there are some people on here I would not want to piss off."

"There's got to be something we could do, though, right?" Castle wheedles, seducing Maddie with the idea of an event that might launch Q3 into the stratosphere. "I'm sure we could work something out with those who have reservations. A free dinner on another day? Maybe with an author in attendance? And maybe give them an option of first reservations for your next place?"

"Subtle, Rick, really subtle," Maddie replies vaguely, clearly allocating most of her mindshare to processing the possibilities, which might include making enough of a splash to open another restaurant.

"Is it possible?" Castle asks. "You probably heard what happened with the Clairborne," he asserts, knowing that she must be attentive to competitive developments.

"Christmas came early this year," Maddie replies with a tone of deep satisfaction. "Couldn't happen to a bigger pig. Get me drunk some time and I'll tell you stories about that guy," she laughs. "Actually, forget that. If we get drunk together, we'll have much better things to do."

"Might it make this whole possibility even sweeter," Castle coaxes, addressing the first part of Maddie's comment and ignoring the second, "to know that you stole the Aegis event away from him?" Castle suggests.

"It would be more delicious than anything he could cook," Maddie admits.

"Are you doing anything this afternoon?" Castle asks, trying to drive this forward. "My friend Winnie Keates is the client relations director at Aegis and she needs to nail this down quickly. We were just at lunch when the Clairborne news broke and I asked her to give you the first shot. If this isn't going to work, we'll need to find something else."

"I'll meet you at Q3 – I can be there in 15 minutes," Maddie answers.

"Wait a minute," Castle answers, happy that this might work out but also offended. "Fifteen minutes? But it was 20 minutes for me, tequila, and chocolate syrup."

"Oh, Rick," she coos in reply, "I would've thought you'd appreciate taking your time with the fun stuff," she laughs. "Besides, this is business. So get that fine ass moving!"

"We'll be right over, we just need to settle up first. But we're on our way," he says with a laugh before disconnecting.

His sense of satisfaction at maybe having figured out a solution to Fred's problem wavers a bit on his approach to their table. She's sitting calmly – much more calmly than he would've expected. She watches him return to the table, keeping her expression blank.

Nervous but curious, he takes a seat and signals the waitress for their bill. He's about to share his news when Fred grabs his hand and pulls it under the table, squeezing for all she's worth.

"You are in so much trouble," she whispers fiercely.

"What? Why?" Castle asks, momentarily surprised.

"You're Richard Castle!" she hisses before looking around to make sure no one overheard.

"I know I am," he says dumbly. "Is that a problem?"

"No," she allows, releasing some of the pressure from her grip. "It's just you… and I… dancing. And lunch. And this!" she says, waving her phone around while confused and inarticulate. Shaking her head, Fred tries to get herself under control. "It's just that you seem so normal, so real. Not like someone famous."

"I'm still me," he says with a shrug, looking at her to get some kind of reaction. When she offers an embarrassed smile and releases his hand, he smiles in return. "Are we still friends? Can I still trick you into going dancing with me?"

"Of course you can," she says with a shy smile. "And I might have to eat my words about your penchant for models. So, I bow to your wisdom and experience – any advice you can offer with my party problem, would be greatly appreciated," she says, clasping her hands before her and bowing. "What did you have in mind?"

"I know the owner of a restaurant that might work. Actually, she's a friend of Beckett's," Castle confesses, getting a surprised look from Fred. He can tell that she's going to say something sympathetic, so he forges on to forestall her. "Q3 – ever heard of it?"

"Sure," Fred answers, eyes going hazy as she thinks about the possibilities. "It's a different angle, but it could work," she says speculatively. "It could work very well."

"She's waiting for us there," Castle replies as the waitress arrives with their bill. "Want to go plan a party? When we're done, the people in LA will be begging to meet you."


A/N: There! Beckett and Castle were in the same scene – two, in fact. Be careful what you wish for.

To answer some questions from the reviews and PMs, we'll find out what Castle's up to when Beckett does. As she notes in this chapter, Beckett's trying to honor the requests he made back when he initially left the precinct, which means she won't be actively investigating his new job. So, remember that this story is about the journey, not the destination. Besides, Castle's got a new passion that'll keep him busy for the next few weeks as he helps plan the Aegis party.

Many thanks for the reviews, follows, and favorites. Getting those email notifications always makes me smile. I'm happy to reply to all the reviews and PMs to which replies are possible, but I'm going to drop out for a few days, so I might take a little longer than usual to reply. My apologies, but I'll be back in action soon.