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 Five

"Rick?" Gina asks in surprise, looking up from her desk to see her ex-husband standing in the doorway to her office, waving off his escort. They very rarely meet in her office, opting instead for restaurants when possible and conference rooms when required. In fact, she can't remember the last time he was here. "Did we have an appointment?" she asks in confusion, pulling out her phone to check her schedule.

"No appointment," he says with a smile. "But do you have a minute?"

"Of course," Gina replies in surprise, gesturing to her guest chair. Castle sidles into her office and takes some time to inspect the photos on the wall on the way to the guest chair. He's surprised, though perhaps he shouldn't be, to see himself peeking out of one of them. It's not from when they were married or from their doomed attempt to reconcile – it's a candid shot from an event in the time between.

"Miami," Gina reminds him, sounding wistful. "That was a good trip."

"It was," Castle agrees as he wanders over and takes a seat. "We were hitting our stride again with the fallout from our divorce far enough behind us."

"But not so far as to have forgotten why it happened," Gina adds, looking not upset but reflective.

"Exactly," Castle agrees, glad that he and Gina seem to be on the same page. The last thing he wants is for his courtesy visit to send mixed signals. "Is that's why it's up there? As a reminder in case we think of tripping down that road again?"

"It's a good picture from a happy time," Gina replies with a raised brow. "A professional picture from a work event with my favorite pain in the ass."

Castle chuckles and pretends to straighten his tie, though he's only wearing a button-down and blazer. "At least I'm the favorite."

"Any warnings or reminders that the picture provides are strictly an extra benefit," Gina goes on to explain, making Castle nod again. "That's not why you're here is it?"

"No," Castle agrees gently, "that's not why I'm here. I actually came in to meet with your boss," he says to Gina's surprise. "But I wanted to see you first to let you know why I'm meeting him. I figure I've given you enough surprises over the years, so I didn't want you to be caught out or think that I'm going over your head about something."

"Thanks, I think," Gina replies, still looking surprised at Castle's courtesy. Things have been rocky between them since they broke up again, and he didn't seem to appreciate last week's impromptu visit very much. "Am I allowed to ask why you're meeting with him?"

Castle laughs in response. It's not often that Gina feels out of place in her professional life – it's a central part of her identity and has been for as long as he's known her. In fact, that's why they've been able to work together even after the wreckage of their failed romance. So, if she's a little off balance now, he needs to make note and remember it, because she'll probably be running this company, or retired, before it happens again.

"Of course," he replies. "Black Pawn uses three main ad agencies, right?"

"DeBoer, Meadowes, and Ogilvy," Gina confirms, her mastery of the corporate functions of Black Pawn contributing to his smile. "They subcontract, but those are the three main accounts. Why? Is there a problem?"

"Not a problem," he assures her. "At least not for me."

"Here we go," Gina replies with a grimace. "What did you do this time?"

"This time?" Castle squeaks good-naturedly. "That seems to imply that I've done something wrong in the past."

"You're right, how sloppy of me," Gina replies with a chuckle while shaking her head. "Let me be more clear: it's been at least 15 minutes since your last shenanigan or arrest report, so what do you have planned?"

Truly having fun now, Castle's reminded that things weren't always bad with Gina. "I've got a friend who's the client relations director at Aegis. Their big marketing event is coming up but their venue fell through, so I've been helping her make adjustments."

"Was she burned by that Clariborne mess?" Gina asks, more riled than sympathetic. "You know Lucinda Lopez, the agent for Lisa Wickersham? Total nightmare. And that's the only place she'd meet with me. Heaven knows how I'll deal with that woman now," Gina grouses.

"You could try Q3," Castle suggests with a shrug of his shoulders. "That's where Aegis moved after the Clairborne fell through."

"Is that what this is about?" Gina asks with a discerning look. "You and Madison Queller?"

"No!" Castle replies, surprised that Gina knows Maddie, at least by reputation. "She's just a friend. And Winnie's just a friend," he rambles, barely remembering not to refer to her as Fred when talking to someone she might meet professionally. "We're all just friends."

"Hmmm. 'Just friends' seems to be the theme of your relationships these days," she says shrewdly, and maybe with a little lingering hurt of her own. "I wonder why that is?"

Dammit. Gina knows far too much about Beckett for Castle's liking. She doesn't know the exact details, but knowing that he's left the precinct is probably enough. It makes him wonder, again, about Gina's agenda for last week's surprise visit.

"As part of helping my friend Winnie," Castle blunders forward, refusing to address Gina's question, "I told her I'd invite a few writer friends, like Lisa and Tom," he says while nodding to some of the other pictures on the wall. "They get a low-impact night on the town and some of Winnie's preferred clients get to meet their favorite authors."

"And be wooed by publishing companies who use Aegis for their marketing needs," Gina finishes the explanation in a flat tone. "So, let me get this straight – you're talking about skimming off some of our top authors and putting them someplace where they'll be actively poached."

"That's not the intent and I think the risk is low," Castle admits, "but it's why I'm here. I've got a pair of tickets for your boss, so he can play shepherd at the event if it's a concern for him."

"Of course it's a concern!" Gina replies in exasperation. "Dammit, Rick, how could you do this to me?" Taking a deep breath, she calms herself before looking again at her ex-husband. "Sorry," she says with a shrug, "you still have a talent for pushing my buttons."

She keeps an admirably blank face after this comment, but her blush shows that her mind might've wandered on other interpretations of her words. Warning bells start clanging in Castle's head as he remembers heated arguments that led to other developments in their shared past.

"I should probably get moving – can't be late for my meeting with the boss," he says with a shrug as he rises from the chair. "But now you know what we'll be talking about so you won't be embarrassed by any surprises."

Nodding, Gina gives him another assessing look before rising from her chair and walking around her desk to see him out. "Wait a minute, Rick. I owe you an apology," she says to his surprise. "I know we still fall into our old ways of dealing with each other, but I might've been too quick to complain. I'm sure it wasn't easy to get Pawn invited to Aegis' big party since we don't use them. And this advanced planning," she says with a wave between them, "is very kind of you. Thank you," she says, leaning in to drop a quick kiss on his cheek.

"We might not've worked," Castle says gently as he steps back and toward the door, "and I've made plenty of mistakes. But I'm still trying to get better, still looking for that one aspect of your life I might not turn upside down," he says with a wry grin.

"You're still my favorite pain in the ass," she reminds him with a smile as she waves him out of the office and starts to return to her seat.

"Oh, Rick," she calls out as he's nearly through the doorway. "Ed's traveling a lot for the next few weeks. What do I do if he passes the invite to me?" The question is nonchalant and all the more dangerous as a result.

"Then find a date and buy a dress and some dancing shoes," he says with a smile and a shrug. "I'm having fun. It's going to be a fantastic party."


"Sir? You wanted to talk?" Beckett asks from the doorway. Lost in thought with his back turned to her as he cleans his office, Montgomery failed to notice her gentle knock.

"Sorry, Beckett," he apologizes while gesturing to a chair, then lifting a stack of files and moving them to a side table before returning to his chair.

"Spring cleaning?" Beckett asks with a smile, waving an arm around Montgomery's office to take in the mess. As often happens with big cleaning projects, the in-between stage makes his office even messier than it was at the start. From the scope of the disruption, it looks like he's embarked on a massive purge.

"No," he says more seriously than Beckett expected, "just putting things in order."

The tone and word choice puts Beckett on edge. "You're not retiring, are you?"

Cocking a brow at what could easily be viewed as an impertinent question, Montgomery sits in silence for a few moments, during which Beckett returns his stare.

"I'm not retiring," he says when she refuses to look away. "Just decided that it's well past time to clean up some of my past," he says with a sweeping gesture, again in a tone that Beckett finds hard to place. "But that's not why I called you in," he says unnecessarily. "How's your project going?"

"It's a mixed bag," Beckett admits. "The Cutler case slowed me down a little bit. But this is done," she says while handing Montgomery a file folder with a memory stick balanced precariously on top.

"How strong a case can we make?" he asks, already assuming that this is Beckett's research project on how the team performed with Castle's assistance, the one on which the Mayor's intern had helped.

"It depends on the audience," Beckett admits. "Any cop who looks at that will be impressed. But if you don't know how hard our jobs are, you won't appreciate Castle's contributions."

"Explain," Montgomery asks tersely, setting the file down on his desk without opening it. "Assume I'm not a cop and see if you can make a case."

"Okay," Beckett replies, happy that her voice doesn't betray her nerves. She hadn't really thought about making a case yet and doesn't want to screw this up. Focus on the core story, she reminds herself, before jumping in.

"In some ways, murder cases are just like other crimes. Sometimes they're elaborate, bizarre, and premeditated – maybe even meticulously planned. Other times, they're simple crimes, sometimes laughably so. That means some of our cases are easy to solve, and others are very difficult."

"Okay," Montgomery nods, "I'm with you."

"Assume we can separate our cases in two groups," Beckett proposes. "The first group includes the easy cases – the ones with simple explanations, short suspect lists, and obvious motives. The second group is the difficult cases. Those are the terrors, the cases where nothing seems to make sense, everyone's got an alibi, and there's either a dearth or surfeit of motives."

"Hmmm," Montgomery emits in a doubtful tone while tapping his chin. "Sounds like the vast majority of cases would fall in the middle.

"Doesn't matter," Beckett replies easily. "Either assume that we can split cases down the middle and they go into the right group or we can ignore the cases in the middle for now. It doesn't change the story." Seeing Montgomery's shrug at this comment, Beckett continues. "You'd expect that it would take much less time to solve the easy cases than the hard ones, right?"

Montgomery nods, adding a gruff, "Of course."

"That was the case for us before Castle showed up," Beckett admits. "But it's not true anymore. At least not until he left," she says with a grimace. "For the cases when Castle was around, the time-to-close was indistinguishable for both groups, statistically speaking."

"So," Montgomery says, looking like he's challenging the results, "what you're saying is that having the writer underfoot slows you down, that it takes longer than it should to solve the easy cases."

"No," Beckett replies, suppressing her smile at the obvious question. "Our times for the hard cases come down when Castle's around."

"Is that because he helps," Montgomery asks with the same look, except for the glint in his eye, "or because the rest of you work harder to get rid of him?"

"Correlation is easy to prove statistically," Beckett says as if a professor, "but causality is almost impossible to prove. Let's just say I have my own theories about the reasons."

"I bet you do," Montgomery says with a laugh. "So that's the story – Castle helps speed up our closes on the hard cases? I see two obvious problems. The first is the one you mentioned, getting people to appreciate the complexity of our cases. It makes sense, but it's not a quick story."

"And the second?" Beckett asks, wondering what else has him concerned.

"It's too easy to juke the stats," he says simply. "Castle's not an employee, so there's no record of when he was here or which cases he worked. The results depend on which cases he worked, and that's all been determined by you, right? Hardly independent."

"That's a weakness," Beckett admits. "But there are a couple things that help there. Castle's morbid curiosity and short attention span, for starters." At Montgomery's curious look, Beckett explains. "He loves the tough cases but was involved in very few of the easy ones, since he finds those boring. Though he probably still hastened our efforts on the few easy ones he was on as we tried to get him to stop whining," she pretends to complain to Montgomery's smiling nod.

"That'll help," he encourages. "What else?"

"Well, we do have records of which cases Castle worked," Beckett says, looking slightly shamed. "When he started, I kept careful notes of which cases he saw. Just in case…," she trails off, abashed.

"Just in case he got us into trouble, impeded your efforts, treated more case files with light-fingered contempt, or gave you cause to have him thrown out?" Montgomery guesses.

"It seemed prudent at the time," she mumbles. "I stopped with the notes, but I still mark which cases he works to this day. Well, I did," she shrugs, reminding himself that he's not here anymore. "I know it's not independent, but you should have some confidence if you're asked about it."

"Did you share this with your team?" Montgomery asks while pointing to the folder on his desk. Seeing Beckett's nod, he pursues his next question. "What did they think? Did they agree with the story?"

Beckett laughs, then covers her mouth. "Sorry, it's just that you sounded a bit like Castle there, looking for the story. As for whether they agreed, maybe I should've mentioned that as the third bit that builds the credibility."

"How so?" Montgomery asks, interest piqued.

"They… we haven't always recognized Castle's contributions," Beckett says, adjusting her words to acknowledge some of her own comments from the past and to stand united with her team. "It's easy, or maybe we've made it easy, to minimize some of his contributions. Did we move faster because Castle knew someone who'd talk to us? Did we catch something we otherwise would've missed because he kept our spirits up and our bodies well caffeinated?"

"Or did he actually make contributions that we overlooked or didn't credit because he's not a cop?" Montgomery nods with a resigned look. "I know which theory Mendoza would suggest. I take it this story didn't sit well with your team?"

"It's always uncomfortable recognizing flaws," Beckett admits. "This mirror was no different than any other."

"Okay," Montgomery nods, still thinking about the report. "I'll take a look. I'll get back to you with suggestions, otherwise I'll get this to the Mayor," he says briskly, clearly moving them to their next topic. "Now, what about the other side of things?" he asks of Beckett's investigation into the DA's office.

"Not much there yet, I'm afraid," Beckett admits. "I need to go a little slower there and I can't really ask Hannah to help."

"Let me focus your efforts," Montgomery suggests. "Don't worry about the DA himself. I think he'll have his hands full soon enough. Focus on his predecessors."

"Wait a minute," Beckett interjects with palm outstretched. "What do you mean he'll have his hands full?"

Montgomery gives her a hard look for several long moments before speaking again in that odd tone from the first part of their conversation. "I'm constantly amazed," he says, "by how we all think we're without sin, even when we know it's not true."

Beckett looks at him, waiting for him to keep talking, but Montgomery remains frozen, as if surprised by his own words, or his audacity at speaking them aloud. "Sir?" she finally prompts.

"His campaign's only a few weeks old but it's already in trouble. Turner's hiring decisions are motivated by fairly obvious, and base, motives. Turns out he's gotten to know several of the women in his office very well," Montgomery says with distaste. "And he either assumed they'd stay quiet or that it wouldn't matter."

"You're joking," Beckett replies in disbelief. "All this work, all this stress, when his campaign's been doomed from the start?"

"It takes a special kind of ego to run for office," Montgomery opines, "one that's not especially dented by reality. You say 'doomed from the start,' but I don't think he'll stop, at least not right away. He'll try to hang on, see if this blows over. It might even make him more vitriolic on his Weldon attacks."

"And you want me to leave him alone to focus on something else?" she asks incredulously.

"Turner's harassment scandal is like a gut shot. We know it's almost certain to kill him, but not quickly. While he's running around bleeding out, we need to take away his chance at recovery. To do that, I want you to dig into his predecessors, and I want you to make it obvious that you're poking around."

"I don't understand," Beckett presses. "He won't be that distracted, and it's still the DA's office. That'll cause us problems that'll outlive Turner."

"Do you trust me, Beckett?" Montgomery asks while pinning her with a look before assuming her affirmative response. "I know what I'm doing. When Turner gets wind of this he won't go to his staff, he'll come for me. That's a meeting we want to force. You just get him there and I'll take care of the rest."

"Okay," Beckett replies, not entirely on board but willing to trust her captain. "Anyone in particular I should focus on among his predecessors?"

"Look into people who've left the DA's office," Montgomery replies. "Look for someone whose current success might fall to ashes if past corruption at the DA's office comes to light."


"I need to get to my homework," Alexis says with regret, "but it was nice to finally meet you, Fred."

"Are you kidding me?" Fred replies with a wide smile. "After all the stories I've heard, I was dying to meet you. But, before you go, will you tell me something?"

Suspecting that the gleam in Fred's eye portends some mischief, Alexis is happy to play along. "Certainly."

"Is Martha real?" Fred asks. "And does she really live here?"

Laughing at the ridiculous questions and her father's indignant look, Alexis warms even further to Castle's new friend. "Oh, Grams is very real. She'll be so disappointed she missed you tonight. Someone apparently decided that an impromptu birthday dinner was the best way to introduce you to the household," she adds, scolding her father again. "Normally, she'd be here for dinner, but she's, uh, reconnected with an old friend from Temptation Lane and is spending a lot of time with him lately."

"Which I'm sure is completely unrelated to tonight's dinner being an unscheduled event," Fred suggests shrewdly, casting her own look at Castle. "Otherwise, she could've brought her new beau to dinner, too."

At this comment both women laugh at the look of puckered distaste that Castle can't hide. Feeling like he's being cast as the stereotypical son who thinks no suitor is good enough for his mother, he feels the need to justify his reaction. "I'm sure he's a perfectly nice guy, even if he is a horrible actor. But I'm just not ready to see him at the dinner table after walking in on them…"

Their laughter turning to looks of mild horror, the ladies let this topic drop. "Sorry, Rick," Fred offers with palms raised. "You're right. Joking aspersions apologetically withdrawn," she says formally, bowing her head in contrition.

Quirking a brow at Fred's interesting apology, Alexis opts for a more direct route. "Thanks for the reminder, dad. I think I'll head upstairs and hope that studying Calc will drive that image from by brain."

Castle rises in tandem with his daughter, offering her a warm hug before she departs. "Happy Birthday, Daddy. Goodbye, Fred," she offers kindly on her way to the stairs. "I hope I'll see you again."

"Until then," Fred agrees, raising a hand in departure.

Castle returns to the table after a quick detour to the kitchen counter to retrieve the bottle of wine to top off Fred's glass. Then, with a contented sigh, he sinks back into his chair.

"Dinner was wonderful, Rick," Fred offers with her own tone of contentment. "And your daughter is a delight. As shocking as I find this, you weren't exaggerating about her in your stories."

Castle beams, always happy to hear praise for his daughter, though his look twists a bit as he looks down to guide his hand to his empty wineglass. "Sorry about the rough start," he apologizes. "I'm still glad we kept this low-key, but Alexis was a little colder at the outset than I expected."

"She was lovely," Fred says resolutely. "Don't you give that girl any trouble."

"She's always lovely," he agrees, "but she was lovelier as the evening went on."

"If she was," Fred says leadingly, still not willing to accept his premise, "why do you suppose she'd act that way?"

"I've only spoken to her about you being a friend," he replies, watching the light reflect off his glass. "I never said anything about romance, but she probably made her own assumptions anyway. So, you got the gatekeeper treatment when dinner started."

"You want to know one of the reasons I prefer women, Rick?" she asks rhetorically, laughing at the expression on his face as he tries to squelch his irreverent replies. "It's because men are so clueless," she says with a laugh as she reaches out and taps his cheek. "I wasn't getting the gatekeeper treatment because I was a potential love interest," she says while pinning Castle with a look. "I got the treatment because I was the wrong love interest."

At this pronouncement, Castle lets his head fall as he huffs out a breath. Moving his wineglass into both hands and staring into it as if it could foretell the future, Castle admits that she's probably right. "She's always liked Beckett, always hoped that we'd end up together. It's made this whole situation even more difficult."

"I'm sorry, Rick," Fred says remorsefully as she reaches out and pulls a hand away from his glass to clasp it in hers. "Forget about this topic. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, it's fine," Castle denies, though his tone is less than convincing. "It's not just about Beckett. While she was never comfortable about the safety risks that went along with shadowing Homicide detectives, she liked the discipline and maturity that my time there helped foster."

"Discipline and maturity?" Fred parrots back. "Granted, I didn't get to see the before model, but if this is the after model, you must've been quite a piece of work back in the day!"

"You saw what's online," Castle confesses with a smile that might contain as much pride as shame, "it's not all fabrications," he admits with a laugh. "I warned you, back on the night we met, that I've gone more than a little wild in the past."

Raising her hands to concede the point, Fred tries to get back to the thread of the conversation that led them here. "So, what? Alexis is worried that you'll revert now that you're away from the NYPD?"

"Hell, I'm worried about that," Castle replies earnestly, "and she's usually more attuned to these issues than I am. So, yes, I think she's worried about me. And she's not too happy with what I've used to fill the gap."

"How's that going, by the way?" Fred asks. "Any better since they corralled you for the tattoo?"

"It's fine," Castle replies, though his heart isn't in it and Fred calls him out with a look. "It's just frustrating. I'm supposed to be a full member of the crew but they're sheltering me, leaving me in reserve unless they have to use me. I get access, and I see a day in the life, but I feel more like an embedded member of the press than a participant."

"Exaggerate much?" Fred asks with a raised brow.

"Maybe a little," he admits with a huff at being caught out again. "But I do think I wouldn't have seen much action if we hadn't been so busy. My school days are long behind me, but it feels like I'm the kid being picked last for dodgeball. They won't even let me drive!"

"That's probably just a public safety decision, right?" Fred teases, trying to raise his spirits.

"Hey!" Castle objects in mock offense. "I'm an excellent driver. Why does everyone always assume I'd be a menace on the roads?"

"Your motorcycle hardly instills confidence, Rick," Fred sasses back with an eye roll, happy that Castle seems to be getting more animated.

"I enjoy the bike far more than I expected, even though I've only been riding it for a few weeks," he answers. "But I've got cars, too, and I drive them well, thank you very much."

"Are they as run down as your bike?" Fred asks with a moue of distaste. "Is this where your Studebaker comment came from?"

"I'm fixing up the motorcycle, which I bought like that. My cars are very nice. You'll see when I give you a ride home," he promises, looking altogether too confident for Fred's taste.

"Which should be soon, I'm afraid," she sighs as she looks at the time on her phone, "if you're good to drive," she says while pointing at his empty wine glass.

"I held myself to one small glass," he replies. "Going to try to write tonight, so I need a clear head."

"Really? That's great!" Fred beams, ecstatic to hear that he's picking up his pen. "We should go," she prompts, fearful that any delay will dampen his enthusiasm. "There's one more thing I want to talk about, but let's do it on the drive."

With a nod, Castle rises and holds a hand out for Fred. Escorting her down to the lobby, Eduardo calls him over before he can call the elevator for the parking garage. Castle keeps up a constant line of chatter even as he collects a delivery from Eduardo, guides Fred to the parking garage, and starts leading her through the parked cars. Seeing his motorcycle, Fred takes a look at the car next to it and gives an impressed nod.

"'s that your car, Rick?" she asks while looking at the silver Mercedes. "Very nice. Very tasteful. I was afraid you were going to lead me to some ridiculous machine fueled by testosterone and feelings of inadequacy."

"Yes, that's my car," Castle replies, pressing a button on his fob to lock the doors of the already locked Mercedes so that the tail lights flash in affirmation. "But we're taking my other car," he says with a suppressed smile as he walks past the silver sedan to start pulling the dust cover off a vehicle that crouches closer to the ground.

Fred's cheeks match the shade of the car that's revealed as Castle tugs off the cover. "Oh, no," she groans as the Ferrari is revealed, regretting her glib words. "You can't be serious."

"Of course not," he replies while continuing to remove the cover. "If I was, we'd take the motorcycle," he says while rolling his eyes and pointing to his bike, "and it'd fly."

In her embarrassed and slightly inebriated state, it takes Fred a moment to understand his joking reference, but she guffaws when it dawns on her. "New rule," she gasps as she stops giggling. "If I'm going to drink, you have to, too," she says, cocking her head at the odd sound of the "to, too" in her comment. Shaking it off, she tries to explain. "It's hard enough to keep up with your humor sometimes, and – strangely – it turns out that being drunk doesn't help."

"No deal," Castle laughs as he folds up the cover and steps to the rear of the car to place it within the shoebox-sized trunk, placing the package received from Eduardo beside it. Taking Fred's arm to escort her to the passenger door, he explains. "If I were drunk, I couldn't drive you home in my failure-mobile."

Spinning in place and knocking her forehead against his chest, Fred laughs again. "Sorry, sorry! My mouth gets away from me sometimes."

"Don't worry," Castle assures her with a chuckle as he gives her a quick hug before opening the car door. "You know one of the things I like best about you, Fred?" he asks before closing the door for her, moving around to the driver's seat before finishing his though. "I like that when we hang out, I'm not the only one who might occasionally find a foot in my mouth."

"It's no fun to dine alone," Fred agrees with a grin.

"Exactly," Castle smiles in return before twisting the key in the ignition.

Fred's eyebrows raise as the low rumble of the throaty engine shakes the car awake. Castle recognizes her surprise and waggles his eyebrows. "Not so bad, eh?" he asks as he backs them out of the space and prowls toward the exit.

"It's like riding a tiger," she admits in a surprised tone. Then, noticing Castle smirk, she rolls her eyes. "Shut up. Drunk," she explains with a huff as she points to herself, which makes him laugh again.

The first few minutes of their drive is quiet, as Fred leans back in the plush leather finery and enjoys the ride. Castle pulls her out of it, of course, as he laughs after they've stopped at the snarled intersection of 6th Avenue and Bleeker Street. "There!" he says while the young men who'd been using the cross-walk finally stumble back onto the sidewalk after having been rendered nearly immobile by the sight of Fred in the sports car. "All refueled. Or does it only work on my feelings of inadequacy?"

"Apparently smugness works, too," she answers with a cross look, before laughing herself. "Anyway," she says, drawing out the three syllables to stretch all the way through the intersection, "I wanted to thank you, Rick, even with all your teasing."

"Thank me for what?" he asks. "Dinner was great. It was fun to have you over."

"Not for that," Fred says with a shake of her head. "Well, not just for that. The party," she says, getting back on track. "We're basically ready to go, just have the little details now that we would've had if the Clairborne mess never happened."

"Excellent," Castle replies happily as he guides them through the evening traffic. "I'm looking forward to it."

"I'm looking forward to it being done," she admits frankly, "but yes," she adds as she sees his head turning her way, "I'll let you pull me out for at least one dance – that was your birthday wish, right?"

Nodding in confirmation and satisfaction, Castle pushes on the next part of the planning. "Is your LA trip set, then? You're going out right afterward so that news of this stunning success will still be ringing in their ears, right?"

"No," she laughs. "I'll head out about a week after. I need some time to rest, and the best comments will come from clients, which take some time to spread. Although…," she draws out, pausing to tease him.

Huffing in exasperation, he refuses to look her way, instead using a hand to gesture her to get on with it.

"My bosses at Aegis know something's up," she confesses. "They're thrilled beyond belief that our event plans adjusted so quickly. Which is all thanks to you."

"Nah," Castle denies. "I just helped speed things up. Just put two friends together so they could help each other out. You would've done fine without me."

"Stop it," Fred says seriously, shaking her head. "At the very least you saved me a ton of stress, and you might've saved the whole event."

Castle laughs in response. "That's me," he chuckles, "I make your life easier in some ways and more exasperating in other. I'm like the IRS," he laughs as he pushes the analogy probably too far, "except I collect stress instead of money. Then I return it in other ways, some appreciated and some not."

"You can try to joke your way out of this," Fred replies, "but it won't work. You were a godsend, Rick. So, stop kidding around and just let me thank you."

Looking slightly abashed, Castle settles down. "If I helped at all," he says quietly, "it's not as much as you deserved. Not as much as you've helped me."

"Better," Fred praises, happy that Castle's stopped his defensive joking, "but still nonsense."

"What did you mean," Castle asks, using diversion rather than humor, "when you said your bosses know something's going on?"

Remaining silent until Castle looks her way, Fred sends him a cross look to let him know that she's aware that he avoided accepting thanks again. "I meant that they're already full of praise about the party and it hasn't even happened yet. Makes me wonder if they know I'm thinking about leaving."

"Would you stay," Castle asks, "if they made a new pitch, offered you more money or a promotion?" When Fred hesitates before answering, he's not sure if it's because she's unsure or if she's wary of hurting his feelings. "A golden collar chafes at least as much as a leather one," he offers to spur a reaction.

"I know," she says quietly. "I think I need a new start," she confesses.

"Good," Castle replies with a nod. Noticing her surprised look, he chuckles. "I'll miss you, don't get me wrong, but you should do what makes you happy. Besides, it's not like LA's that far away. Just make sure you're not neighbors with Meredith and I'll be happy to visit."

"Really?" Fred asks, a playful gleam returning. "Damn. I was hoping you'd introduce us. I figure if I like you, then maybe she and I would hit it off…"

"You've obviously been drinking," Castle replies, now searching for a change of topic. "And I like you too much to even imagine the possibility of you with Meredith."


A/N: I survived, so thanks for the good wishes on last week's fun. I'm farther along in writing than what's been posted, but as friends warned me, my writing during recovery turned out to be pretty trippy – I'm not sure how much I'll be able to salvage. I'm posting this chapter a little early to spur my efforts, but it'll draw down my reserve. With any luck I can keep a buffer to allow at least weekly postings.

Back in chapter one, someone suggested that I break up the chapters to make them smaller. That didn't really appeal to me, as I like the one chapter per story-week approach. But some of the later chapters are getting pretty long. I might play with the weekends (whether they count for one week or the next) to balance things out, or I might just have to break down and split a week (or, maybe, I should just write less). I'll figure it out.

Finally, for those who've asked: the last Friday in April 2011 falls in Week Nine (four weeks after Castle's birthday). But they might see each other again before then…