Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional. Also, you'll recognize some dialog in this chapter. Some has been borrowed directly while some had to be bent a bit to fit the shape of this story. Hold on tight.


Week Ten

Beckett's got her cellphone in hand, powering it up as soon as the wheels touch the tarmac. She's been in such a fog, such a state of rage and despondency, that she's amazed she even made it to the airport with a bag. She was somewhere over "the middle" – Nebraska, maybe? – when she realized that her departure eliminated the chance of meeting Castle for dinner. She'll criticize herself for her lapse later, when she has the luxury of time and thought. For now, she'll explain to him that something big came up, beg his forgiveness, and try to convince him to reschedule.

By the time her phone connects with the local cell network, her row is standing to disembark. Not a moment too soon, she thinks, anxious to be away from her large, chatty seatmates and the teething infant who kept her awake for the duration of her flight. Still, she dials Castle's number as she wrestles her bag from the overhead bin. The phone picks up after three rings, but drops the call immediately. Looking at her phone in confusion, Beckett wonders why she didn't get voicemail. She dials again, and again her call is dropped.

She's tugging her bag up the jetway while dialing Castle's loft number when she hears his voice. Looking again at her phone – since she hadn't yet finished dialing the number – Beckett's surprised to hear his voice again.

"Beckett," he calls out again, coming up the jetway behind her will pulling his rollerboard.

"You were on my flight?" Beckett asks in surprise. "In coach?"

"I got there with about two minutes to spare," he complains as he tries to rub out the creases in his sportscoat. "Had to take what they had left. Maurice better treat me right after that flight," he grouses, though Beckett has no idea who he's talking about.

"Castle," she says, shaking her head clear of this surprise, putting away her delight at seeing him to focus on her reason for sneaking out of New York. "What are you doing here?"

"You were supposed to call me if you had an emergency, remember?" he asks as he approaches, not breaking stride.

His comment snaps her back into focus. "Castle, you cannot be a part of what I'm going to do here."

"You mean your 'vacation'?" he asks with a roll of his eyes.

"Back off, Castle," Beckett replies as the more infuriating parts of his personality that she'd been overlooking come back to her now. "It was one thing for you to follow me when we were partners…"

"When we were partners," Castle cuts in while waiting for her take position next to him and pointing down the concourse to where they'll collect a rental car, "I deferred to your area of expertise. We both know that doing something stupid is my area of expertise."

"Is that why you're here?" Beckett asks aggressively as they stride away from their arrival gate, "Because you're doing something stupid?"

"I'm here," Castle answers with a sigh, "because my friend needs help, even if – as usual – she won't admit it. Anything else," he says quickly when it looks like Beckett's going to interrupt, "can wait until we're back home."

Beckett wants to fight, wants to argue. She's here to find justice for Royce and she needs to stay focused on that goal. But she's also alone, far outside of her jurisdiction, and probably risking her job, if not her career. She can't deny that having a friend could make all the difference. And as she's helped prove, Castle can be an effective contributor to an investigation. It's not until they're approaching the rental counter that she admits to herself that Castle's presence here is a blessing – at least for Royce's case and maybe for her hopes as well.

"How did you know?" she asks quietly, hoping he'll understand what she's saying with her question.

"I'm very tempted," Castle says with a twinkle in his eye, "to say that I felt a disturbance in the force." He seems both pleased and saddened by the roll of her eyes. "I know a guy," he answers with a shrug as he approaches the VIP line of the rental car counter, where the happy attendant greets him by name.

Montgomery, probably, Beckett thinks. Though it could've been Espo or Ryan, too, given their recent attentiveness to Castle. Hell, for all she knows, her letter from Royce wasn't the only one he'd written…

She's about to ask Castle for details when bits of the conversation she's ignored filter into her head. "A convertible Mustang?" she asks incredulously. "And what do you mean, one driver?"


"… I was so in awe of him, Castle, when I first met him," Beckett confesses late at night in their suite. Building theory with him for the first time in two months feels right, especially on a case for Royce. Having Castle at her side again makes her nostalgic, and thinking about Royce hastens the reminiscences. "I just hung on his every word. And then later I realized he was just making up stories to mess with me," she smiles in bittersweet recollection, then thinks about the similarity with Castle. "I can't believe I'm never going to see him again."

Castle gives her an intense look, opening his mouth to reply. He seems to reconsider, though, closing his mouth again and taking some time to think. "I'm sorry, Kate," he offers quietly, fumbling awkwardly to provide some comfort. "There's no way to ease the pain of losing someone you've loved, as you know better than anyone." He pauses, wondering if the reference to her mother was a mistake, but is heartened by her attentive look.

"But you know the secret," he whispers, enticing Beckett's attention even from her mournful thoughts. "You use it, you build from it. The depth of your strength, your heart… that's where it comes from."

"I don't want to do it again, Castle," Beckett admits while swiping away a tear that tried to run down her cheek at his words. "I'm tired, Rick. So tired," she confesses, looking at the hands clasped in her lap. Then, marshalling her courage, she looks up into the depths of his eyes. "I'm tired of losing the people I love."

Having faced his own mortality just more than a week ago, Castle nods along. "Then keep him safe, Kate. Protect him," he says, voice cracking. "Love him."

The last two words seem to break something in Castle. He looks unwilling to say anything more, unwilling to even stay here lest more be said. Following the siren's call of his bed and blessed sleep, Castle pushes himself up to make his way to his room.

Beckett's gentle touch on his arm stops him, freezes him in place. He stares at her hand with an unknown intensity, leaving Beckett wondering if he wants her to hold him tighter or let him go.

"I'm trying to love him, trying to protect him," Beckett answers, and Castle's head falls. This is not what he wants to hear.

"But he's stubborn. He's on assignment for another month," Beckett continues while Castle thinks about physically removing her hand and leaving the room, "and I'm afraid that he won't talk to me before then. That he might try to forget about me by then."

As much as he's trying to ignore her words, that last bit doesn't make sense. His brow is still wrinkled in confusion when she talks again, her hand on his arm sliding down to clasp his hand.

"I haven't treated him well," she explains as her hand squeezes his, "but I'm trying to follow his lead. Giving him the space he needs so that when we're done here and when Sal and Mendoza and Renoux are done with him, I can ask him for another chance."

In other circumstances, Castle's befuddled expression would be cause for humor. But before Beckett can even think to react, Castle finally makes sense of her comments and his reaction doesn't prompt laughter. Dropping her hand and taking a large step backwards, Castle looks desperate to put a little distance between them.

"What about Josh?" Castle asks, grasping for the first question that occurs to him.

"I haven't seen Josh in weeks," Beckett answers honestly, keeping her tone light to hide her alarm at his reaction. "And I haven't been with Josh since you held me tight and pulled all the wires."

"I'm sorry," Castle says in reply, almost sounding genuine. "I know that's what you wanted. I'm sorry it didn't work."

"I was kidding myself, Rick," Beckett answers again, keeping her eyes on his, which still look disturbingly guarded. "I was using him to hide. His frequent absences were the reason we worked, not the reason we fell apart."

"That's…," Castle starts to say, before biting his words, unwilling to continue. The expression on his face suggests he dislikes the taste of whatever he's holding back, but Beckett wants to hear it anyway. Waving her hands, she invites him to let it fly.

"That's pretty cold, Beckett," Castle charges, invigorating her with both his comment and his insistence on using her last name to keep some distance between them. "I thought he was your one and done," he says in a defeated voice, running a hand through his hair in frustration at finding himself in the middle of this conversation.

"I never said that," Beckett reacts immediately, incensed. "I said I wanted to see if he could be. And you provided the best tests, Rick," she charges in return, using his given name in defiance of his attempt for distance. "I tested your theories – more than I'd do in our casework, right? But I told you I was thinking about what you said, I was trying to listen. And you were right – he didn't know anything about me. Didn't care anything about me."

"Is this supposed to make me feel better?" Castle asks incredulously. "The guy you chose over me turned out to not be so great? I can only apologize so many times, Beckett, especially when I'm not really sorry."

"Stop saying that!" Beckett yells in reply, striding over to Castle and staring him down. "When, exactly, was I supposed to realize that your flirting signaled something real?" she demands of him before pressing on, not waiting for an answer. "I didn't choose him over you. I only started up with him because you were with Gina!"

"I only went back to Gina because you were with Tom!" Castle yells in reply, meeting her stare-for-stare.

"I only started dating Demming…," Beckett yells back, until her volume and fire both die down in anticipation of this confession, "… because he wasn't you."

For the second time in this brief conversation, Castle looks stunned as he takes a moment to make sure he heard her correctly. His low growl of frustration signals his confirmation, followed shortly by spinning on his heel to head to his room. Again, his progress is arrested by her hand on his arm. This time, though, he refuses to turn back, refuses to look at her.

"Until you barged into my life, Rick," Beckett confesses in a low tone, "I didn't want anybody. I didn't want a true partner, didn't want a real family. The closest I came was with Will," she says, and Castle's head falls again as he wonders how he can possibly get her to stop talking about other men, "and only because he was even less interested in those things than I was."

Beckett tugs his arm, but Castle doesn't move. Even with her fancy training, Beckett lacks the mass and the leverage to spin Castle in place. It's a petty point with which he consoles himself.

"I was all about finding mom's killer," she continues, ignoring his physical intransigence. "Anything else was a distraction. That was until I met you," she says quietly. "Until you went after Coonan with me, for me. Until you invited me into your home when I needed a safe place."

Giving up on him turning, Beckett walks around him, never loosening her grip on his arm but swinging into his line of vision. "You've made the loft a paradise, Rick. It's crazy and frenetic and loud and perfect. It's a place so filled with love and joy that it's easy to see why Alexis and Martha float through their days there. But I thought I was drowning. I couldn't see how I could be a part of that without letting go of everything else. And I wasn't ready to let go."

"And you are now?" Castle scoffs in reply. "Beckett, you flew out here on a moment's notice, in direct defiance of your boss, to avenge Royce. You'll be gone like a shot at the hint of a development on Johanna's case. It's who you are. I've never had any illusions about that."

Wishing she could deny his charge, she knows she can't. From his reply, she also knows that she's not making her point very well. Time to be blunt, she decides, rather than risk more miscommunication. "It is who I am," she admits earnestly, "and it's who I want to be. But that doesn't mean I can't be more. I've been thinking since you left, Rick. You were right. I've never thought about being with someone who could share my life, share my emotions – someone who could accept my need to find justice for mom and maybe even help. I've always feared a distraction, but in doing so, I've turned my back on the most important person in my life," she says by way of apology, reaching up to let her other hand join her first, so that both are touching Castle.

Castle's look of contemplation unnerves Beckett. If she spoke her feelings well, he shouldn't need to think. But he's wrestling with something, almost begging for clarification, until he finally speaks.

"So, that's it?" he asks, surprising Beckett, who's not sure what he's talking about. "I check the boxes. Knows about mom. Check. Could help me on my quest. Check."

"Castle, no," Beckett reacts quickly in horror. "That's not it at all…"

"I can't do this, Beckett," he says with sad resolve, stepping away from her again. "I've been loved in spite of myself before. I know how it ends," he says sadly. "My marriages didn't survive it, so I don't know why you think our partnership would."

"Castle, stop," Beckett answers, heartbroken that this conversation has gone so wrong. "I love you, Rick, and I know who you are."

Shaking his head, Castle refuses to believe her admission. "Don't embellish what we have to secure what you need. I always said that I'd do whatever I could to help your mother find justice, and I will. Always."

"Don't you dare," Beckett answers with quiet fury, "try to sully our word. That is not what you were promising when you told me 'always' and you know it."

Castle bows his head, admitting Beckett's accuracy in calling him out. "What I meant doesn't matter," he tries instead. "One foot out the door, remember?"

"No," Beckett answers resolutely. "Not anymore. Not with you."

Lifting his head to give Beckett the saddest smile she can recall seeing, Castle shrugs. "I wish I could believe you, Beckett. For a long time I've wanted nothing more. But I've spent two months trying to get over you and my heart's already in tatters. You know me – have I ever gone one foot in? To anything?" he asks rhetorically. "No, I jump in with both feet, usually without looking. I'm tired of getting hurt as a result."

"You're wrong about me, Rick," Beckett promises. "You're wrong and I'll prove it."

"By sneaking into my life, converting my mother and daughter to your cause?" Castle laughs mirthlessly. "By making it impossible for me to ignore you?"

"You're going to give me trouble about insinuating myself into your life?" Beckett asks with a look of sheer incredulity and a hint of a teasing smile. "Did you forget where you've been for the two years before you left?"

"I haven't forgotten," he answers quietly. "You don't have to worry about that, Beckett," Castle says with a sigh. "I said I'd help you with your mom's case, and I will. If you want me to come back to the precinct, I will."

"You haven't been listening, Rick," Beckett replies, driving her point home with a fierce look. "Not once during our conversation have I suggested that any of what I've been talking about is about the precinct. I want you in my life," she says simply.

"But Montgomery said you were trying to get me back to the 12th," Castle answers with some confusion.

"I'd like to see you there, too," she confesses. "But it's most important that I look to my side and see you there."

"Don't," Castle replies tiredly while raising a hand, weary in body and spirit. "Don't make promises. Don't dangle hope. Just… don't," he says brokenly as he steps around her and finally slips into his room closing the door softly but definitely behind him.

"You'll see, Rick," she says loudly, a vow to him and herself. "You'll see. It may have taken me too long to get here, but I'm not giving up on us."

There's no answer from Castle's closed door, but she's confident that he heard her. She turns to her room, a burst of optimism encouraging her to leave the door cracked in case he returns.

Turning to her end-of-the-night routine, Beckett's looking at herself in the mirror when she hears his door open. Moving quickly to her door, she's disappointed to see him in shorts and a t-shirt, clearly heading down to the gym. It should be closed, but of course Maurice has probably already anticipated Castle's desire for a late-night workout. Still, she consoles herself as she watches him slip out of their suite, she's clearly given Castle much to think about.

Perhaps too much. He still hasn't returned when Beckett nods off nearly two hours later.


"Castle, wake up!" Beckett says with some urgency as she bounces on the bed next to him.

"Whazzit? Earthquake?!" an exhausted and still-jet-lagged Castle says while bolting upright in bed, looking adorably mussed and befuddled. Not realizing the havoc she's primed, Beckett finds herself swept from the bed as Castle lurches into motion, tossing her over his shoulder without a blink. She's about to hammer on his back and demand to be let down when she realizes that Castle was sleeping in the buff and her perch on his shoulder affords her a perfect overhead view of his ass.

She's still admiring the slope of his lower back as it moves downward when he lifts her again, spinning her on the way down so that she misses the main show. "Stay here!" he barks as he leaves her in the doorway to his bathroom, spinning to whip a large towel around his waist. That task completed, he's back to the doorway in an instant, putting his arms around her and his hands on the doorframe to loom over Beckett from behind to protect her from any falling debris from the "earthquake."

"Castle, stop!" Beckett tries to command, though a few highly uncharacteristic giggles mar her detective's tone of control. "There's no earthquake," she says while ducking under his arm and moving back into his bedroom. "I woke you for a disaster of a different sort."

"Oh," Castle answers, still coming awake but alert enough to blush radiantly red as he looks down at his towel. "Sorry," he mutters, rubbing a cheek to wake himself up and to hide his embarrassment.

"I'm not," Beckett says with a gentle smile. "Can I set a similar wake-up call for tomorrow?" she fires off, watching him just long enough to see his blush darken and hear him muttering before turning her attention to the television.

"I kept it on the free channels, if that's what you're checking," Castle grouses as he moves to the closet to grab some clothes.

"Good to know," she says as she turns the television on and navigates to the channel of interest. "Boring, but good to know," she says with a bit of a teasing tone. "This is it! Come watch," she says, patting the bed next to her.

Castle emerges from his bathroom in shorts and a t-shirt donned hastily and backwards. Taking a seat next to Beckett, he's careful to leave a gap between them. He's still wondering what's going on when the television commands his attention.

"For those viewers joining us late, we now offer a repeat of the news conference from earlier this morning," says a beautiful blonde talking head, "where embattled District Attorney Philip Turner was expected to offer his defense against the growing list of accusations of sexual harassment, inappropriate behavior, and transmission of sexually explicit material. Instead," the woman says, fanning viewers' incredulity that there could be a more interesting topic, "we heard something else entirely. Here's the press conference, originally broadcast at 9:00 AM Eastern this morning."

With that, the broadcaster turns to look at the screen behind her, which grows to fill the television screen in Castle's room. As native New Yorkers, both Beckett and Castle recognize the outside view of the DA's office. But neither recognizes the man who steps up to the podium.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is Ira Stein," the man says into the microphone. "I am DA Turner's personal attorney, retained by him to assist in clearing his name against the scandalous rumors with which his political rivals have attempted to besmirch the honor of one of New York's most dedicated public servants."

"I need coffee," Castle moans, wondering why he was woken early, and alarmingly, for this. Beckett shushes him with an elbow nudge.

"As part of his effort to demonstrate the falsity of the allegations posed against him," Stein continues, working the crowd like a pro, "DA Turner instigated a top-to-bottom review of the DA's office. His goal, of course," Stein says with a ten-thousand dollar smile for the camera, "was to demonstrate that the behavior of the entirety of his office, as well as of DA Turner himself, has been above reproach." At this, Stein dramatically lowers his head while shaking it in dismay.

"Unfortunately, the investigation unearthed evidence of corruption within the DA's office. Though he never told me who warned him, DA Turner did confide that he had reason to believe his quest would reveal that a criminal launched his career from this very office," Stein says dramatically while Beckett raises a hand to her mouth in reaction.

"DA Turner knew his findings were explosive, maybe even deadly," Stein says. "So, why isn't he here, you might ask? Why isn't he bringing this news to us himself? As some of you might have heard, DA Turner is presently at the NYU hospital in critical condition after suffering a one-car accident early this morning," Stein says in low tones, as if breaking bad news to a demoralized electorate. "I've heard slanderous words whispered in response – suicide, drunken stupor – all false!" he shocks people by nearly shouting into the microphone.

"No, DA Turner is far smarter than that," Stein says with a feral smile while raising a hand. "I hold in my hand a copy of the video that was recorded by the additional cameras DA Turner installed in his car. It shows, definitively, that DA Turner's car was run off the road by a vehicle registered to private security firm Orantis Solutions. I have provided copies of this tape, and other information gathered by DA Turner, to the NYPD and FBI."

"Why the FBI, you might ask?" Stein continues, though there's frenetic activity off to the side of the camera's shot, captured only in the margin of the screen. "I've been asked by the authorities not to comment. But I'm free to encourage you to ask yourself: what kind of crimes, what kind of criminals, require the intervention of the FBI?" Stein asks rhetorically while a dour-faced suited man steps into frame to approach the attorney. "Remember this!" Stein says authoritatively into the microphone. "Remember this moment weeks or months from now when it all comes crashing down. Remember who lit the first match, who knocked over the first domino! It's the man you're currently trying to hang, the man who still serves this city from his sick bed. Remember!" Stein says again as he's hustled away from the microphone.

"So, quite the mystery for our friends in New York!" the blonde talking head summarizes as she returns to the screen. "Or quite the smokescreen. We'll keep our eyes on New York and let you know. In the meantime, let's cut to Miami, where a gruesome discovery has authorities wondering if there's a serial killer on the loose…"

Beckett clicks off the television, leaving the room in silence while she and Castle digest the possibilities of what they just heard.

"Montgomery knows something," Beckett says quietly. "He's been encouraging me to have a look at the DA's office. As part of the way for clearing your return," she says shyly, recalling how their conversation went last night.

"I should call Bob," Castle replies, not entirely trying to avoid Beckett's point, but instead worried about his friend and the ramifications this might have for him.

"Say hi for me," Beckett says with a small smile as she rises from the bed. "Then get over to my room – Maurice found me a whiteboard, so we're all ready to finish this," she says resolutely. Castle smiles at her confidence and nods in acceptance, before turning to pull his phone from its charger to check in with the mayor of New York City.


"I'm gonna miss this place," Beckett admits as watches a porter gently place her bag into the trunk of the Mustang before walking around to the passenger door, which Castle is holding open for her. "And I'm going to miss Maurice," she adds with a laugh.

"Everybody misses Maurice," Castle says warmly as he slips behind the wheel and fires up the car. "That's how you know he's the best. That, and his willingness to assist with clandestine, extra-jurisdictional police investigations, of course," he says with a laugh, looking carefree and buoyant now that they're sporting around in the Southern California sun. It almost makes Beckett regret that they're heading back to New York.

In deference to their last tense discussion, Beckett doesn't try to prompt a conversation as they wend their way to the airport, instead throwing her head back and arms wide as if trying to soak up as much sun as possible before boarding the plane. Castle still seems lighter, though he's using the quiet to think. She recognizes his usual tells easily, after seeing them for years – the tapping foot, the finger on his jaw, even the way he moves his mouth when he's not aware he's trying out dialog in his mind. Warmed by this familiarity, Beckett simply lets herself drift, thoughts coalescing around topics for discussion during the plane flight home before flitting off again.

But it's still Southern California, so it takes them more than an hour to make it to the airport despite mileage that would suggest a much quicker trip anywhere else. When they finally arrive at the airport, she regrets that her first words to him have to be a correction.

"Castle, that was our turn back there," Beckett says lightly, not wanting to start an issue about driving. "We need to return the car."

"Not yet, I'm afraid," Castle grimaces. "That'd make for a long walk to San Bernardino," he chuffs out. At her look of confusion, he offers a shrug and an explanation. "One of the many disadvantages of having a real job – two actually," he laments, "is that I had to pull some strings, make some commitments, to secure the time to come out here. It's time to start paying off my debts."

"In San Bernardino?" Beckett asks, as if she couldn't imagine a worse fate.

"Costa's got a buddy out there," Castle explains, "someone who can supposedly provide some insights on the arson case," he says with a huff. "He's probably just working on a screenplay he wants to pitch," Castle grouses, "as if Heat Wave provides any pointers on a competent conversion from book to film. Anyway, after I meet with him, I need to talk to someone in Chino's correctional facility. If I catch the red-eye flight tomorrow night I can be back in time for the day shift at the 28th and the night shift at the firehouse," he adds, sounding exhausted in anticipation.

"But…," Beckett stutters, having not anticipated this development. "I was hoping we could use the flight back to talk," she says shyly. "Five hours with no external distractions would've done us some good," she says hopefully.

"I'm sorry I didn't warn you," Castle says, and the apology sounds real. "To be honest, I've been trying to slip out of it. But Costa and Mendoza are riding me tight. Bastards," Castle mumbles, pulling a small smile out of Beckett. If her plans for a talk were torpedoed, at least it sounds like Castle's not on the same page as Mendoza.

"The perils of working for a living, I guess," Beckett allows, pulling a smile from Castle as he glides up next to the curb at Beckett's departure gate. He's out of the car and at the trunk before she can blink, pulling out her bag for her and extending the handle in what she thinks is solicitousness, not a desire to hasten their parting.

"Thank you, Rick," she says as she ignores the bag and stands directly in front of him. "I know you heard me, heard my promise," she says, reminding them of her talk. "You'll see," she promises again, lifting her arms slightly in question. With a look of surprise, Castle raises his arms and invites her in for a farewell hug.

She can still feel the hard planes of his chest, the weighty bulk of his arms around her back, when she watches him pull away from the curb and into the choking traffic. Repeating her promise to herself about experience that hug again, she turns and heads to the e-ticket kiosk, where she's unsurprised, but very thankful, to find that someone's bumped her into first class.


"Your mom is hilarious," Castle says with a smile, reclining in the lounge chair as he watches the sun set from the Malibu back yard of Fred's family home. Taking another pull on his beer, he shoots Fred a cross look. "She'd be perfect if only she liked my books!"

"She doesn't dislike them," Fred tries to salvage, before laughing, "she's just not much for mysteries. But dad is! He's a big fan," she assures him. Sure that he's being mollified, he cuts Fred a skeptical look and gets another laugh in reply.

"They were both great," Castle allows after feigning a sour look. "I can see where you got your stunning looks and your humor."

"Thanks," Fred says, tipping her bottle in his direction. "They were both thrilled to meet you. They've heard stories…"

"Please tell me they were stories from you, not the newspapers," Castle groans.

"You think you look better in my stories?" Fred looks, returning his skeptical look, then cracking herself up when he grumbles about never winning. "You're the first boy I've brought home since high school," she says with a laugh, "of course they were going to lavish you with attention."

"They don't give you trouble about…," Castle starts, but Fred cuts him off immediately.

"They're great," she says happily. "I couldn't ask for better. They like meeting my friends," she says with a smile, leaning out of her chair to clink bottles with Castle.

"This is one of the things that California has on New York, hands down," Castle says as he looks at the sun falling into the Pacific. "I've always been more of a sunset guy than a sunrise guy. And not just because the sun wakes at an ungodly hour," he clarifies to Fred's eye roll. "It just seems like the perfect end to a day."

"Well, at this beach house of yours I've never seen," Fred leads in subtly, "can't you watch sunsets over the sound?"

"You can," Castle affirms, his eyes still transfixed. "But it's not the same as the ocean. There's just something about the waves, the motion, the reflections. It's magic."

"It is," Fred agrees, sitting happily in her chair and looking out over the ocean. They sit there together for several long minutes, fascinated by the sinking sun, until she finally turns to him. "So, talk to me, Rick."

"About…?" he leads, before Fred makes a swatting gesture from her chair without leaning far enough over to actually connect.

"About the whole reason you're here! About why you came to LA to help a friend you were trying to avoid. About how it went, about what it means, about where your head's at. Seriously," she grouses, "all men aren't really this easily confused, are they?"

Castle huffs a laugh, then draws on his beer while he thinks about how to reply. Truth is, he's been tied in knots about what to do about Beckett since their conversation back at the hotel. He'd let himself think that things had reverted to normal when they returned to Royce's case – after all, isn't that how things always worked for them? But her dismay about being on different flights revealed that she wasn't distancing herself from her comments, at least not yet. Maybe Fred can help him find the clarity that's been so elusive.

So, Castle spends the next twenty minutes relaying the topics of the conversation, her offers and his replies. He pauses only once, to allow them to grab new drinks and to light the torches that provide flickering light now that the sun has set. And while Fred might not be an investigator, she's an excellent listener, and she knows him well enough to call him on his attempts to skip by or shorten some aspects of their conversation.

He feels no more focused, but generally relieved, once he's shared his recollections and thoughts with Fred. For her part, Fred seems lost in thought, pondering what she's heard. Again, they sit in quiet, enjoying the night air, until Fred signals her readiness to talk.

"I'm a little confused," she finally offers.

"Join the club," Castle grumbles, getting a huff in reply.

"You've always seemed like a pretty happy-go-lucky guy," Fred explains. "You've made mistakes, but you don't hide from them – the opposite, maybe," she says with a laugh that increases in volume at his eyebrow waggle. "In fact, it's distressingly common for you to repeat them," she finishes, looking prim.

Castle sits up at this, spinning in his chair to face her rather than the shoreline. "What? I'm usually very careful to find new mistakes," he clarifies with a wicked smile.

"Gina!" Fred says as if coughing before excusing herself. "Meredith!" she coughs again, as Castle raises his hands in surrender.

"Point taken," he says with a blush.

"No, I don't think it is," Fred replies seriously. "You've continued to spend time with women who treated you poorly, who hurt you badly." Castle's about to interject when Fred plays her ace. "Women who've hurt or disappointed Alexis."

That comment knocks Castle back, makes him reconsider. "Meredith's her mom," he says in dismay. "And Gina tried to be. I can't just ban them."

"That's not my point," Fred says, getting frustrated with herself. "I don't understand why everyone gets a second chance except Kate," Fred says clearly. From his startled reaction, Castle clearly didn't expect this comment, and he takes some time to think about it.

"Because," he answers slowly, "no one can hurt me as much as she can."

"That's fair," Fred answers, looking pensive. "Inconsistent, maybe. Prideful, definitely. But fair."

"Prideful?" Castle asks, rolling the word around and trying to get familiar with it.

"What else would you call it, this concern about not being her first choice?" Fred pushes. "Was she your first choice, father of Alexis?" When Castle pauses to frame, then reconsider, his answer, Fred offers another question. "At what point did you decide she was your first choice – not for a roll in the hay, but for something meaningful?"

"Just before Demming," Castle sighs his answer. He wishes it were earlier, but the sad fact is that Tom Demming beat him to the punch – he can't really blame Beckett for ignoring his advances before then, because he can't honestly claim that they were motivated by love or affection, rather than lust. In fact, had he not acted such the cad in their first year together, Beckett might have been more willing to see him as relationship material. If that's what she even wanted, he reminds himself.

"But not long enough before for her to notice, for her to believe?" Fred pushes, causing Castle to regret how well she's come to know him.

"And now we know the sad tale of the Tom-Gina-Josh sequence of bad timing," Fred pushes. "Is that Kate's fault? Can you really blame her for turning to Josh after you'd turned to Gina?"

"I can blame her for how she treated me while she was with him," Castle answers, though his words sound petty and petulant even to his ears.

"Yes, you can," Fred agrees readily. "And her behavior when she was with Tom sounded pretty crappy, too. Kate's not a saint. I don't think she'd claim to be. She sounds like she's insecure, skittish, and a bit self-obsessed. That makes her human, Rick, just like the rest of us."

Castle goes quiet, thinking about Fred's perspective on things. It's a new one, he has to admit, and one that he's finding uncomfortable to contemplate. "I'm surprised," he says slowly. "This isn't how I expected you'd react."

Fred shrugs, then laughs. "That's your fault for seeking romantic advice from an oft-jilted lesbian," she says with a wicked smile, pulling a chuckle out of Castle. "Pardon my French, but you were a bit of a dumb-ass if you thought we'd see things the same way."

"That's fair," Castle chuckles, enjoying Fred's pithy rejoinder. "But, even in context," he stresses, "you surprise me."

"I don't see why, Rick," Fred answers with a shrug. "Look, I know she hurt you, but I owe her," she says, watching Castle's eyebrows shoot up. "If you hadn't left and taken your Lost Boys out for drinks, we wouldn't have met. You've become a good friend, Rick, and those are in precious short supply," she says while reaching a hand out to him. "So, Universe take note: I owe Kate Beckett a big favor."

"It's so cool that you talk to the universe," Castle marvels, earning a cross look.

"Focus," she says seriously, knocking him back on track. "I might owe Kate, but you're my friend. If I thought she was bad news, if I thought you were really over her, I'd do whatever I could to help you find someone else who'd make you happy," she promises, squeezing his hand. "But I can't get over this feeling that if you walk away, you're going to regret it. Yes, you might try things with her and get burned. But at least you'll know. If you walk away now, I think you'll always wonder. Always."

There's that word again, Castle thinks to himself as he turns and looks over the dark expanse of the Pacific Ocean. He's a writer haunted by a word. It taunts him, teases him, seduces him, promises him. And now it threatens him. Can he really walk away? Can he really not know the end of their story?

"Thanks, Fred," he says gratefully, turning back to her and lifting her hand to his mouth for a kiss. "You've given me a lot to think about."

"Well, come on," she replies, standing and using their connected hands to pull him to his feet. "You need to do your thinking in bed – you've got to be out early to get all the way over to San Bernardino."

"That's something about LA that I won't miss," Castle agrees, not looking forward to tomorrow's drives. "But how am I supposed to sleep now? My head's a mess. Ooh, I know!" he interjects, earning a pre-emptive eye roll, "You can tell me a bedtime story!"

"On our way inside," Fred replies indulgently. "I am not going to let my parents catch me sneaking out of your room. They'd convince themselves I was bisexual and start trying to set me up with men again," she huffs, while Castle thinks that could be the start of a hilarious bedtime story. He's smart enough to keep that thought to himself, though, while they go about dampening the torches.

"Okay: non-fiction. Mark Hamill lives in the neighborhood," Fred offers as the start of her story. "His place is a couple streets that way," she points over her shoulder with her thumb, away from the ocean and up the side of the embankment. "He's totally a Jedi," she says, sending Castle into the stratosphere in hero-worshipping delight. "I still remember about ten years ago, we had terrible wildfires. One came right over that ridge," she says while pointing up in the same direction she'd indicated for Luke Skywalker's house. "The fire came boiling down the hillside. As it approached his house the flames parted like the Red Sea," she says with a tone of awe. "Three houses around his burned to the ground – each was stucco with a tile roof. But his place – pine trees, wooden shingles and all – not even a wisp of smoke."

"Seriously?" Castle gasps, completely agog.

"Seriously," Fred confirms with a vigorous nod. "Trust me, the Homeowner's Association wouldn't screw with him after that, and that's as big a collection of Sith as you'll ever find."

Taking a look at him, Fred realizes the severity of her miscalculation. Kind of like a young boy put to bed with a ghost story, Castle now looks far too excited to sleep.

"Fred…," he starts to ask.

"No," she says with a shake of her head. "I am not going to tell you which house is his. Now get over here and give me a hug. You'll be gone before I wake up and I won't see you until I'm back in New York, where you're going to take me dancing again, right?" she asks pointedly, waiting for his nod. "Take care, little brother," she says while hugging him tight, using the title that her mother had found so endearing, "and sleep well. Don't worry about Kate. It'll all work out."


A/N: Only one note this time: the Hamill anecdote above is legit – he must be a Jedi. I only messed with the timing, since this happened back when I was in college (which was more than ten years ago, even with this story set in 2011). The bit about the Homeowner's Association is made up, but seems likely based on my experience.

Not sure when the next update will post, since I'm having very little luck writing or reading this week. I've only got one chapter left in reserve, as I'm still stuck on the beginning of chapter twelve. I'll work it out and post ASAP.