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 Eleven

This time, Beckett's careful to leave her menu open and raised until after Lanie's made her selection.

"Thank you," Lanie says with a smile, fully aware of Beckett's careful patience. "See, wasn't that easy? Take your time, consider your options, decide what you want…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Beckett replies as she lowers her menu. "And then once my personal life's in order, I can decide what I want to eat. You're preaching to the converted, Lanie."

"I don't think so," Lanie replies cheekily. "If you were converted, you'd be dining with Castle, not me."

"Kind of hard, Lanes," Beckett replies with a shake of her head as she takes a sip of ice water, "when he's still in California."

"He stayed?" Lanie asks in surprise. "He wanted to fly back alone?"

"No," Beckett answers easily. "He had some work to do out there related to his investigation. He had to talk to someone in the fire department, then with an arsonist in lockup. With luck, he'll be back tomorrow."

"With luck," Lanie adds, "you'll still be employed tomorrow. Javi said your boss is not happy with you."

"He's not," Beckett agrees. "That's why I didn't rush to get back. I'm hoping that the crushing amount of work from the DA's office will help convince him not to suspend me."

"Might as well get something good out of that whole situation, huh?" Lanie asks to emphasize the point. "So, tell me about California. Not the case – I heard about that from Javi. Tell me about you and Castle. Any naked sexy times?" she asks mischievously, delighting in Beckett's scandalized reaction as she looks to see if anyone overheard.

"Lanie!" Beckett whispers harshly. "Knock it off. There were no sexy times," she nearly growls as her cheeks blush a lovely shade of red.

"You know what I find interesting about your reply, Detective Beckett?" Lanie asks, completely unaffected by her friend's admonitions and enjoying her chance to run an interrogation. "You didn't mention the naked part." Lanie smiles wolfishly as Beckett's deepening blush suggests an interesting story.

"Fine," Beckett whispers after several moments, looking annoyed. "I saw him naked," she confesses, causing Lanie to look surprised and impressed. "But not the right way."

Lanie's look quickly changes to confusion at this odd statement. "I'm sorry," she replies, perplexed. "I didn't realize there was a right and wrong way to be naked."

"We had connecting rooms," Beckett explains, "and I shocked him when I bounded in after hearing about the DA's press conference. He bolted awake in surprise, thinking there was an earthquake. Before I could blink, I was on his shoulder and on the move to the doorway."

"Where was he going?!" Lanie asks.

"Just to the doorway. That's where you're supposed to shelter in case of a quake, according to him," Beckett answers with a small smile.

"So he was escorting you to safety while naked?" Lanie asks, cracking up. "That's sweet. And hot."

"You want to hear the hot part?" Beckett replies, leaning in close and blushing again after making sure no one is eavesdropping.

"That he was sleeping naked while in an adjoining room?" Lanie guesses. "He's never been terribly subtle."

"No," Beckett answers with a smile. "He was up late and spent a while in the gym. From his adorably mussed hair, I'd guess that he took a shower and just collapsed into bed."

"Well, if that's not the hot part you'd better explain," Lanie hoots with wide eyes.

"I was off his bed and onto his shoulder in a heartbeat," Beckett whispers. "He lifted me like I weighed nothing. Same when he let me down, even as he was spinning me around."

"So, you had an overhead view?" Lanie asks, picking up her menu again and using it to fan her face. When Beckett nods back naughtily, Lanie laughs. "Not bad," she allows.

"No, the bad part was not correcting his misimpression earlier," Beckett confesses. "But what was I supposed to do? First, he's naked and tossing me around," she says while looking around again to make sure they're not being overheard, "then he's crowding up behind me wearing only a towel to protect me from falling debris."

"Kate," Lanie whispers seriously, "you should've waited for an earthquake," she says with a laugh. "Or maybe caused one of your own…"

"No," she allows as she sits back and takes another sip of ice water. "He was pretty embarrassed, and things between us weren't good," she says, surprising her friend. "We'd had a rough talk the night before."

"Oh, Kate," Lanie answers, leaning her head back and shaking it while looking to heaven above. "What happened?"

"I told him I loved him," Beckett admits, shocking her friend into silence. It's at that moment their server arrives to take their orders. A young man who looks at Beckett hopefully, his interest is not encouraged by her crisp order or efforts to get Lanie to make a selection. Once Lanie engages enough to mutter her order, Beckett aims a peremptory "thanks" at the waiter to send him on his way. He finally gets the hint after she repeats herself.

"And?!" Lanie finally says, back in action and wanting to hear where this story goes.

"And he didn't believe me," Beckett answers sadly in a low voice.

"Oh, Kate," Lanie can't help but repeat, shaking her head at her friend's terrible luck. "So," she says with compassion, "now what?"

"Now I convince him," Beckett answers with conviction, still riding her wave of optimism. At least until she notices Lanie's look of concern.

"Why?" Lanie asks quietly and intensely.

"Why what?" Beckett asks in confusion when her friend says nothing more. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Lanie answers, looking nervous, "are you trying to convince him because your feelings are that strong, or are you trying to convince him because you can't believe he'd move on?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Beckett asks, more hurt than offended. "You think I'd chase after him just because I couldn't handle someone saying no?"

Lanie's reaction doesn't change in the face of Beckett's withering scowl. "What I mean," she explains patiently, "is that if you're not really serious about him, you need to let him go. That man believes in anything – aliens, Bigfoot, ice bullets, whatever – but he was hurt badly enough that he didn't believe in you."

"I'm serious," Beckett answers in a low, confident tone. "I know what I want. That's what I told Josh yesterday."

"What?!" Lanie asks in surprise, sitting back in her chair. "He's back in the picture?"

"No," Beckett replies easily. "He's back in town. He called last night to see if there was any reason for us to talk."

"And?!" Lanie demands for the second time in this conversation, starting to look irritated that she needs to keep pulling these admissions from her friend.

"And there wasn't," Beckett says with certainty. "We had our talk when I called him weeks ago and nothing's changed."

"Even though you and Castle haven't…," Lanie starts to prod before Beckett cuts her off.

"I know what I want," Beckett repeats quietly.

"Good," Lanie answers quickly, noticeably brightening. "I'm proud of you."

Rather than smile at the praise, though, Beckett looks pensive. "I thought about it a lot on the flight back," she says, speaking slowly as she recalls her ruminations from the journey back from LA. "I have hurt Castle," she confesses. "I guess I didn't really realize how badly until we were talking that night. He just looked so tired, so wary," she tries to explain, running a hand through her hair in frustration, then giving an annoyed sigh when she notices their waiter watching her.

"It made me think, made me wonder if that happens more often than I realize. We trade quips and jibes and he never flinches, so I swing harder. But now I'm wondering if he's just really good at hiding his feelings," she wonders aloud.

"You think he learned something from his mama?" Lanie asks, thinking about Martha's acting skills.

"Or maybe his ex-wives or schoolmates," Beckett wonders. "Somewhere along the way, Rick learned to take his shots without flinching. But now I'm thinking about some of the things I've said to him over the years… God, Lanie," Beckett admits, "without context, some of the things I've said would just look horrible if you wrote them down. And now I'm wondering if I didn't really understand the context."

"He's a big boy," Lanie replies, "he can fend for himself, and we both know why he kept coming back. But," she adds with a smile, "I don't think he'd mind if you let up on him a bit, maybe even showed him some actual affection."

"That's the plan," Beckett agrees, still looking a little glum.

"Then we should talk about what to do once he's back in town. Have you two had your date yet?" Lanie asks, still getting caught up.

"No," Beckett admits. "We've each had to bump it for scheduling problems. It's kind of in limbo right now. We've been texting," she confesses with a blush, "but things are a mess right now with him working at the 28th when he's not at the firehouse."

"That's where we'll start," Lanie says definitively, interrupted by the arrival of the food that the waiter mixes up because he still can't look away from Beckett. "Hey," Lanie interjects, "I'm paying, so if you want a tip, you'd better spread the attention around there, buddy." Chagrined, the waiter focuses on his task, switches the plates, then bows himself away.

"You're paying?" Beckett asks with a grin.

"Absolutely. Which means I'm calling the shots," Lanie says with a mischievous grin. "So, tell me about these text messages, and I tell you what we're going to do about Castle…"


"Well, look who's slumming it with the commoners," Sully says as Castle enters the locker room, changing out of the clothes he wore to the 28th precinct. He's already exhausted – a pointless trip to San Bernardino, endless traffic, a redeye flight followed by a day of working the arson case and dealing with the braying ass who captains the 28th, and now he's got another night shift during which to deal with the inevitable fallout from his identity going public with his coworkers at the firehouse. That it was delayed for his hospitalization, working with cops, and sudden retreat to Los Angeles is probably just going to make it worse.

"Why in the hell," Dave's basso voice comes in from the other side, "does a rich guy take a shit job like this?"

"For the pleasant company, of course," Castle says with a winning smile, getting boos and catcalls as a result. He endures a few shots to the shoulder and even a slap on the ass on the way to his locker.

"You girls are overlooking the biggest problem," Big John calls out from his place on the bench. "Mister Castle here," he says, over-enunciating Castle's name to sound pretentious, "owns a bar. So, all those times we went out for drinks and rich boy here was bitching about paying, he was too ashamed to take us to his own place."

This deduction prompts a low susurration of discontent, as Castle's colleagues look around to join in each other's sense of offense, turning disgruntled eyes to the beleaguered writer.

"I own a cop bar," Castle answers, embellishing slightly. It's not really accurate to call the Haunt a 'cop bar,' but he does have a table set aside for folks from the 12th and he doesn't doubt that one table would be sufficient to start a good donnybrook. Mostly, though, he's been trying to keep the spheres of his life separate, ensuring that he has a place not home or work where he can retreat to how things used to be. "And I like my bar in one piece. Look what happened the last time we ran into a cop when we were out drinking."

"But you're the one who got into the fight!" Sully says with a laugh. The absurdity of Castle's well-aimed comment seems to prompt several chuckles, effectively deflating the disgruntlement resulting from his decision to obscure his identity.

"I saw your cop partner back where Tommy got shot," Dave cuts in again, sounding amused. "Seems like a perfect 'make love, not war' kind of situation there, Rick."

Definitely wary of treading that path, especially in a locker room, Castle gives an aloof shrug, letting his silence speak for him. Just as he's patting himself on the back for shutting things down without engaging in a discussion, Matt, the closest thing he has to a nemesis here, rounds the corner, clearly having been listening in.

"Forget the bar," Matt says aggressively. "According to Google, our little celebrity rookie here owns a house in the Hamptons." He says it damningly, like a prosecutor parading his most incriminating exhibit, and it has some of that effect as the jury of his peers slowly turn to look at him as if he's somehow fundamentally different from them. This is the reason he wanted to start as Rick Rodgers – how in the hell is he supposed to experience and be able to describe a sense of camaraderie if he's only considered an outsider?

Thinking quickly, he pulls the trigger on a possibility he'd been considering on the flights to and from LA. Well, not so much on the flight back, when his imagination was focused elsewhere. "Actually," he says confidentially, "I wanted to talk to you guys about that…," he starts, before he again notices the attention of the group shift. Turning in place on the bench, he finds himself looking at Ben Costa, who looks less than fully amused.

"Time to coordinate your social calendars later, ladies, when I'll have something to add," he grouses ominously. "Gear up and let's move."

Feeling guilty about his happiness that someone needs their help, Castle's joy at escaping his interrogation and actually getting back to the activity of his new job overcomes his fatigue as he hustles through the now-familiar process of preparing for a quick departure. With luck, he thinks to himself, the images burned into his mind from the Malloys' close call won't haunt his waking efforts as they have his dreams.


The FedEx guy is still waiting for the elevator to depart the precinct, escort at his side, when the box he delivered to Montgomery starts ringing. Having anticipated this development, the captain closes his door while tearing open the box, extracting the burner phone and getting everything set up.

He answers on the seventh ring. He might've been able to answer sooner, but seven's always been his lucky number and he can use any luck he can get if this call goes as expected.

"Hello," he says into the mouthpiece, knowing that starting with his name would be redundant.

"We have a common irritant," says the voice from his past, one that he'd hoped had left New York City, and its police department, long behind. Still, he reminds himself, you can't be surprised that rotten fruit falls after you shake the tree. Especially not when that was the plan.

"I don't agree," Montgomery replies. "I've already made him happy, so any irritation left is yours and yours alone."

"I'm not talking about any piss-ant little election," the petulant voice replies in consternation. "That's nothing. I'm talking about the press conference, about whatever he thinks he found. Need I remind you that I'm not the only one who has something to lose?"

"I'm well aware of possibilities and potentialities," Montgomery says easily, keeping this conversation moving while thinking about the fate of DA Turner, who's still in critical condition. "But it was your office, not mine. If he's an irritant, it's because you left something behind."

"I know how to take care of myself," the voice answers ominously.

"Obviously not," Montgomery interjects, again looking to stoke anger in an opponent. "Made any hiring decisions that've come back to haunt you lately? Maybe retained a private security company for some aggressive driving?"

"I trust in the confidence of those who work for me," the voice assures him, causing Montgomery to bite his cheek to avoid a telling reaction. "They'll get nothing on that front. Nonetheless," the voice continues, "we need to know what he passed along to the Feds."

This time, Montgomery releases his grim chuckle. "You can't be serious. All that'll do is draw attention."

"Not if it's done right," the voice replies. "That office leaks worse than Congress. There'll be ways in."

"For you, maybe," Montgomery pushes back. "You were there, you know people and where to look. I don't have contacts or a reason to be asking."

"And yet, this is what I expect of you," the voice replies imperiously.

"Then you expect too much," Montgomery replies.

"Really? Have you forgotten the end-game? What do you suppose will happen if he actually finds something?" the voice asks, aiming for a tone of conversational curiosity and instead sounding sophomoric.

Montgomery answers immediately and clearly. "I know exactly what'll happen. Your meteoric rise will suddenly stall. The other senators will stop taking your calls, and your committee assignments will suddenly find themselves dealt to the next rising political star. You, meanwhile, will have to walk the tightrope between keeping yourself out of prison while also convincing your real constituents – the ones who have so much invested in you – that you're worth the hassle to keep around. Because we both know how they deal with failure. Or exposure."

"And if they'll treat me so harshly," the voice replies with menace, "what do you think they'll do to you?"

"Hire someone from Orantis, or some other pet privatized army, to kill me," Montgomery answers easily. "So, how might I ever avoid such a dire fate?" he ruminates out loud. "Well, for starters, you can rest assured that copies of this conversation will find themselves widely distributed for ready production in the event of my untimely demise. Using a burner phone, Senator, only stops the records. It does nothing to disguise your voice or location."

"You've just made a terrible mistake," says the voice of Senator Bracken. "You had two ways to go with this and you chose the wrong one. Your paper shield won't protect you."

"Maybe not," Montgomery admits. "But I've always been the chit you had in reserve, the back-up plan. I'm tired of waiting for my day of reckoning. So, now it's all in play. Perhaps you can take me out quietly and intercept the contingency plans I've made. But if you miss even one, it's all over."

"You can't go to the authorities," Bracken sneers in reply. "You just implicated yourself. Besides, you have nothing that'd ever see the light of day in a courtroom. I'm an attorney, in case you've forgotten. You have nothing of evidentiary value."

"Why would I need to turn to the authorities?" Montgomery replies easily, letting his complete lack of concern transmit itself across the phone lines. "I just need to turn up the heat. Because we both know, Senator, that you're still replaceable. Your keepers will prefer a marionette without damaged strings."

"Marionette…," Bracken trails off, thinking. "It was you!" he marvels, finally catching on. "You pointed Turner at me!"

"I'd suggest, Senator Bracken, you tend to your own battles," Montgomery replies, refusing to answer Bracken's allegation. "Who knows? Maybe you'll find a way out and then we can all just walk away."

"You know what's funny?" Bracken asks, sounding whimsical. "I thought I might need to adjust my plans. You've been a little too cocky lately, Roy. Strutting around, running your precinct, trying to make amends. I don't even feel bad about this."

Bracken's words have hardly come through the line when another signal activates the detonator hidden inside the cellphone, causing a whumping sound in Montgomery's office that ends their call with an exclamation point but doesn't even rattle the windows.

"Well, shit," Montgomery says after turning off his recording equipment but before inspecting the remains of the burner phone, and the relay, he'd set up in the blast box on the far side of his office. He'll have to remember to slip that back down to the bomb squad after hours tonight. "That would've hurt," he says to himself as he pulls out some gloves and goes about adding the remnants of the burner phone to his growing collection of private evidence.


"Detectives," Montgomery calls from his office. "In my office, please."

Again, he moves off without waiting for them, so he's in his seat before Beckett, Ryan, and Esposito are at his door. Seeing that there's only the two usual guest chairs, the boys bolt forward to claim a seat. With incredulous, pointed looks from both Beckett and Montgomery, the boys sigh before offering one of the chairs to Beckett. Ryan waits for her to sit while Esposito ducks back into the hallway to return moments later pushing his desk chair. Once everyone is situated, Montgomery, who's looking fierce and out of sorts, puts his desk phone on speaker and dials without any explanation.

"That you, Roy?" Captain Mendoza's voice crackles from the speaker.

"Yes," Montgomery replies in a voice that reveals nothing, either to Mendoza or the detectives sitting in front of him. "I have Detectives Beckett, Esposito, and Ryan here. You said you had an update you wanted to share?"

At this comment, Beckett's eyebrows shoot up, and she's not the only one to look surprised. Mendoza hasn't seemed like the kind of guy to provide "updates," so something's definitely going on.

"I got Detective Renoux here with me," Mendoza replies, "Castle's partner."

"So, you've made inroads on your arson investigation then?" Montgomery surmises. "Why isn't Castle part of this call?"

"He's off stroking his hose somewhere," Mendoza replies, huffing at his own humor and getting a scolding "Captain!" from Renoux on his end of the line. "But we're shifting from investigation to manhunt," Mendoza adds, "and that ain't really his area of expertise anyway."

"You have a suspect?" Beckett interjects, gladdened by the prospect of Castle finishing his assignment with the 28th so quickly.

"Yeah," Mendoza allows. "You weren't kidding, Roy. That guy's weird as shit, but he seems to trip into useful information."

"Captain," says Renoux on the other end of the line, clearly perturbed by Mendoza's less-than-respectful tone. "He hardly 'tripped into' the information."

"That's Renoux," Mendoza explains unnecessarily. "Renoux, why don't you tell 'em what happened."

"Rick wanted to revisit some of the previous arson sites," Renoux begins, and Beckett finds her hackles rising at the use of Castle's given name. "He wasn't satisfied with some of the canvassing notes, thought they were 'perfunctory at best,'" she says with a laugh.

"At the third site, there was a note about an older resident who was hard of hearing. We'd been hopeful that she'd know something, since physical evidence suggested the arsonist approached the site within view of her apartment. But she refused to say much, and what little she did say wasn't very kind."

"Ha!" Mendoza interrupts. "Renoux's softening things for your delicate 12th precinct ears. That knotted old bat was a total b…"

"Captain!"

"…attle axe," Mendoza cackles, having changed direction after provoking Renoux's objection.

"Anyway," Renoux continues, trying to regain her equanimity in the face of her boss' rough demeanor, "Rick wanted to talk to her. She's apparently spent the time since her first interview thinking up new curses and imprecations, though," she says somewhat ruefully, "and he certainly got an earful. But he just laughed at all her insults, which made her try harder," she explains while Beckett cringes at the description. "I swear, the air was blue around her."

"Bluer than her hair?" Mendoza cackles again, though this time everyone chooses to ignore him.

"But while she was letting fly, Rick looked over her head…"

"Not hard." Mendoza, again.

"… and saw a piano. It caught his curiosity – he said it was a quality instrument…"

"Worth more than his car, he said," Mendoza interjects again, prompting Ryan and Esposito to share a shocked look.

"… and so he interrupted the resident, Mrs. Tremaine, to ask about it," Renoux finishes, starting to sound perturbed by all the interruptions. "Well, she was so surprised that he recognized the piano and ignored the insults that were blistering the paint off her walls that she just froze. So, Rick walks right by her," Renoux says in a tone of awe while Beckett drops her head into her hands, not sure if she should be ashamed or glad that Castle's still oblivious to concepts like warrants and probable cause, "and plays a few chords on the piano."

"And she just stood there?" Beckett asks in surprise.

"Until the first chord rang out," Renoux says. "Then she was furious. She stomped right over to him looking more fierce than any mugger or strung-out junkie I've ever seen."

"Than you've ever seen?" Mendoza interjects yet again. "You get many of those over in White Collar?" he guffaws. Meanwhile, Montgomery and Beckett share a look at learning where Mendoza recruited Renoux, confirming that his criteria for selecting Castle's partner had little to do with previous arson experience.

"Just as she's ramping up again," Renoux continues, trying hard to keep irritation from inflecting her tone, "Rick cuts her off. 'I know you're lying about not seeing or hearing anything before the fire' he said, right to her face. And then, just before she was going to defend herself, he offered her a deal."

"She knew the arsonist?" Ryan asks in surprise.

"No," Renoux answers quickly, "not directly. But there was the obvious question about why someone living alone in a crappy apartment with the near-deafness she'd claimed during her first interview kept a fantastically expensive piano in perfect tune. So, Rick thought he could use that."

"What kind of deal did he offer?" Montgomery asks, this strange story seemingly pulling him out of whatever funk he was in when he invited the team into his office.

"He offered a hand-job," Mendoza chortles, "but the old lady held out for dinner and a lap dance."

"Captain!" Renoux nearly shouts in reply. "That is a *gross* mischaracterization. He did nothing of the sort!"

"That's not how I read the report," Mendoza answers and Beckett can nearly picture his shrug. "But, please, Detective Renoux, kindly elucidate," he drawls out, sounding ridiculous.

"Rick sat down and started to play something from Gershwin," Renoux says with a laugh, "but Mrs. Tremaine shut him down immediately. She told him there was nothing wrong with jazz, as long as he played it alone in the privacy of his own home with the curtains drawn and washed his hands afterward."

Despite her better efforts, Beckett can't help but chuckle, imagining a tiny old lady laying into Castle about his choice in music. She's not alone.

"So, what did he play?" Ryan asks, curious.

"Nothing, at first," Renoux answers. "He asked her a few questions about what she liked, but she wasn't talking much. She gestured to the door when she was telling him that he had one chance to guess, and that's when we noticed her hands. She's so arthritic that even looking at the keys of the piano must hurt her terribly. I don't know why she continues to have it there when it must be a reminder of something she loved but can no longer experience."

"That's probably exactly why it's there," Beckett says sadly.

"That's what Rick said, too, later," Renoux notes quietly. "But, seeing her hands did the trick. He played the opening bars of Chopin's Waltz Number 7 while watching her face. He stopped, patted his thigh, and invited her to join him. She looked at him like he was insane, but he explained that's how he taught his daughter. She must miss playing very much, because it didn't take much from Rick to convince her. It was an odd sight – this wizened old lady sitting on Rick's lap, with her hands resting on top of his as he played. Oh, how she cried," Renoux says before trailing off, lost in her recollection.

"See?" Mendoza ruins the moment by interjecting. "Lap dance!"

"Rick played the waltz from memory," Renoux recalls, ignoring Mendoza. "He made some mistakes and the tempo changes were inconsistent, but you'd never have known it from watching Mrs. Tremaine's face. I don't know that I've even seen such a moment of bittersweet joy." Renoux pauses for a moment, clearly taking more time to recall the scene.

"They were quiet for several minutes afterward, Rick frozen in place and Mrs. Tremaine lost in her memories. But when she came back, she made the deal," Renoux says. "She agreed to tell us everything she remembered about that night in exchange for a promise from Rick."

"She was a material witness, right?" Esposito asks. "Why not just bring her in instead of bribing her?"

"One, I would never classify it as a bribe," Renoux replies testily, while Beckett also shoots Esposito a reproachful look. "Two, I've neither the interest nor the inclination to abuse the elderly. Three, she might be small, but she's pretty feisty. It might've taken an officer or two to bring her in, and they'd be the worse for it," she ends with a chuckle. "Much easier for Rick to clear the way."

"What'd he offer?" Montgomery asks, rejoining the conversation.

"He's gonna cook for her. Romanian goulash or something," Mendoza says dismissively.

"Captain, will you just stop?" Renoux finally breaks. "You're not funny and you're not helping." When Mendoza doesn't reply, she continues. "Rick has to play Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody for her."

"He can't play that," Beckett replies in surprise, though she's disheartened that she doesn't actually know how well Castle can play the piano – he'd offered her a recital when she stayed at the loft, but it had seemed too personal then. "Can he?"

"No, he can't," Renoux answers. "There are professional pianists who struggle with that piece. Rick's going to be visiting her once a week for the next six as he tries to learn how to play it. I'm sure she picked something difficult just to ensure the regular visits."

Oh, Castle, Beckett thinks. He must've been desperate to finish the arson case if he mortgaged more of his future, including some weeks that'll stretch into the summer, for a chance at solving it. "I take it his gamble paid off?" she asks of Renoux.

"Mrs. Tremaine was just as nosy and interfering as you'd hope a stereotypical old lady might be," Renoux answers. "She noticed the sedan, the skulking figure, the timing. She even got us a partial plate."

"And she was just going to sit on this?" Ryan asks in surprise.

"I was pretty incensed, too, until we talked about it on the way back to the two-eight," Renoux answers. "It's wrong, but you can see where she's coming from. She's lived in the neighborhood a long time, since she and her husband immigrated. It's all she knows. Her husband is dead, she has no family, and she's nearly homebound. If the arsonist retaliated, she'd lose her whole world. But," Renoux adds, "I think she felt glad to have the excuse to talk."

"So, you've got a suspect," Montgomery summarizes, to sounds of assent from Renoux and Mendoza. "That's the end of Castle's work there, then?" looking to discern the real reason for this call.

"Well, that's what we wanted to talk about," Mendoza admits, taking over from Renoux. "He don't really seem very invested in working with cops any more. He hardly ever came into the precinct here, which doesn't make sense. I think the hose jockeys are making a play for him – he always seems to be over there."

"And?" Montgomery prompts, looking both irritated and… happy?

"And so I was thinking that we could team up," Mendoza pitches, getting eye rolls and scoffs from the detectives in Montgomery's office. "You know, a best-of-both-worlds thing where he could work Arson or White Collar over here and do Homicide over there with you. Better than having him join the fieries, right?"

Expecting her captain to mute his phone and talk to them, Beckett's surprised when Montgomery replies immediately. "Thanks, Teo, but I think we'll hold. Castle'll do whatever he thinks is best. If he can hang with the young bucks of the FDNY and that's what he wants to do, we'll leave him to it. Now, unless there's anything else, it's close to my tee time."


"Captain?" Ryan asks after Montgomery disconnects the call minutes later, not having been able to slip away from Mendoza quite so easily. "I get why we're not throwing in with him," he says while pointing to the phone, "but you're not just going to leave Castle alone, are you?" Unable to help himself, he casts a quick look at Beckett even though the question was posed to Montgomery.

"From what I hear," Montgomery replies, letting his visage lighten a bit even if he doesn't quite smile, "as much as he enjoys running around with his gear, Castle and Sal aren't getting along all that well. Not a surprise, since Sal and Bob aren't on the same page. So, Castle must really dislike Captain Mendoza if he prefers the firehouse to the 28th. There was no way," Montgomery vows, "I was going to tag team with Mendoza. I don't want that jackass claiming a piece of Castle if he comes back."

"Is he coming back?" Ryan follows up again, with another glance at Beckett.

"We haven't talked about it," Montgomery replies somewhat testily. "He's been ducking my calls for the last few days. Almost like he's worried I'm going to tear a few strips off him for his participation in that Southern California investigation," he says with a pointed look at Beckett. "Actually, since we're on the topic – Ryan and Esposito, get to work. I have some things to discuss with Detective Beckett."

Beckett tries to look contrite while her team members file out, Esposito pushing his chair in front of him. After all, she's already endured her shockingly light dressing-down from Montgomery about running off to LA in pursuit of Royce' killer. Montgomery'd been surprisingly willing to accept her defense of doing the right thing regardless of the consequences. It makes her wonder if his attitude is related to his recent behavior, including his efforts on the DA investigation.

"Beckett, we need to talk," Montgomery says after Ryan closes the office door on the way out.

Nodding, Beckett jumps right in. "I agree. I need to ask you something about Castle coming back to the precinct."

Knitting his brows in light of being taken off topic, Montgomery looks troubled but waves her to continue so that they can get on to his topic.

"What would happen to Castle's place at the precinct," Beckett asks boldly, though her clenched fists belie her nerves, "if he and I were personally involved?"

Dropping his scowl in favor of a look of pensive curiosity, Montgomery leans back in his chair. He's about to answer when he closes his mouth and takes some additional time to consider his response. After a few nerve-wracking moments, he finally speaks. "Why ask now?"

"Because," Beckett answers quietly, "if I have to choose, I'm going to drop my efforts to get him back to the precinct."

That simple answer tells Montgomery more than he needs to know. Just by saying "if," she's revealed that there's nothing going on right now and she's not certain anything will happen. But she's established her preferences in a way that utterly shocks Montgomery, who takes a few moments to consider a reply.

"I'll say only this," he offers. "What you do on your time is your business, what you do on my time is mine. It happens on your time, we don't need to talk about it. It happens on my time…," he trails off while giving her a stern look, "… then I'll remind the two of you to back off while I remind everyone else that he's a consultant," he says while finally breaking into a small smile. "As long as I'm in charge of the precinct," he summarizes in an odd tone, "you'll get no trouble from me on that front. Assuming," he clarifies quickly, "you keep it low-key and the quality of your work doesn't suffer."

"Yes, sir," Beckett replies with a smile of her own, which fades only slightly when she remembers that all she's done is clear the way for a relationship Castle hasn't encouraged since his departure.

"Maybe it's good that you mentioned that now," Montgomery says, recalling Beckett's conversation with both his odd tone and odd words. "Did he give you a vacation, too?" When Beckett nods, Montgomery explains why he asked. "It's one of the reasons I've been trying to reach Castle. I changed my vacation a little bit – my family's taking advantage of that trip right now. Things are coming to a head with the DA's investigation," he says cryptically, "and it's time to be cautious. How would your dad feel about heading out of town?"

"Sir?" Beckett asks in mild shock. "What are you talking about? Why would my dad be in danger?"

"He probably won't be," Montgomery replies, "but it's not worth the risk. I made sure the DA knows it was me who was poking around, but after what happened with your mother, I think we should take some extra precautions."

Beckett can hardly believe what she's hearing. Not only has Montgomery raised the specter of her mother's murder, he's worried that Jim might be attacked as a result of Beckett's research. The research that she conducted based on his prompting!

"What have I done?" she asks in quiet fury. "What have you done?" she demands of her boss. "You pushed me to investigate knowing that it might put my father at risk?!"

"Everything we do," Montgomery answers with equal passion, "puts the people we love at risk. That's the job. I'm doing everything I can to protect us – me, you, your team, Castle – but I need your help. Make plans for your dad, make sure he keeps his head down and be ready to move if I call you."

"For how long?!" Beckett demands. "What's going on? When will we be safe?"

"Soon," is Montgomery's maddening answer. "I've got some errands to run, steps of my own to take. If nothing happens before then, we'll talk about what's going on in a week. Can you trust me that long?"

"A week," Beckett answers grudgingly a long pause, her mind racing as she thinks about taking steps for her father. Florida will be a hard sell, especially since she has no intention of missing out on whatever Montgomery is planning and her father's unlikely to fly off alone. But the cabin – that's the perfect place to hide out, and it shouldn't take much to convince him to head up there…


"That's a little much, don't you think?" Beckett asks as Alexis completes her order at the coffee shop and hands her credit card to the cashier. "Despite anything your father might've said, I don't actually need four coffees or as many pastries to get moving in the morning." Still shocked that Alexis reached out to her, Beckett was doubly glad to accept this odd breakfast invitation, both to bond with Alexis and to provide a little personal security in light of Montgomery's warning.

"They're not all for us," Alexis says with a secret smile, enjoying having Beckett at a disadvantage. Much to Beckett's consternation, it looks like Alexis enjoys this fleeting sense of control as much as her father has done.

Stepping down the counter to collect their bags of pastries and await the preparation of their drinks, the ladies chat idly, Beckett working for clues and Alexis shutting her down with a smile. With only minimal grumbling, they're heading out the door, where Alexis again surprises Beckett by moving toward the waiting Town Car.

"We're meeting Lanie," Alexis offers as she accepts the driver's help to get their drink trays into the car. "It'll take a little while to get there, so you might want to grab a bear claw for the ride."

"I guess your dad hasn't told you how I feel about surprises," Beckett grouses. Then, noticing Alexis' grin, she revises her statement. "Or perhaps he has." Alexis' widening smile is all the confirmation she needs.

Deciding to maintain her humor, Beckett leans back into the seat and tries to relax. Life's not all bad. Alexis' surprise is unlikely to be unwelcome (though it could be uncomfortable), she's got caffeine and sugar, and they're on their way to see another friend. With a deep breath, Beckett forces herself to relax. Noticing Alexis' chuckle doesn't even impede her efforts. Much.

Twenty minutes later, the Town Car crosses a bridge out of Manhattan, prompting Beckett to perk up. "Exactly how far are we going?" she asks of a smirking Alexis.

"We're almost there," Alexis answers as the car turns onto a side street where Beckett sees a familiar vehicle.

Shaking her head, Beckett can't help but smile. "You're definitely your father's daughter. Do I want to know why this adventure requires a coroner's van?" In reply, Alexis merely mimes zipping her lips, emphasizing that no clues will be forthcoming.

Beckett rolls her eyes as the car comes to a halt next to the white van. Beckett's hardly out the door before Lanie's calling from the driver's window of the van. "Patient needs a caffeine infusion, stat!"

Alexis hands the pastry bags then a tray of drinks to Lanie while Beckett walks around the Town Car to join them. But Lanie's already rolling up her window and firing up the van, so Alexis leads Beckett over to the passenger door.

"Aren't you coming with?" Beckett asks in confusion when she boards the van and Alexis steps away.

"Ewww," Alexis answers. "Definitely not. Have fun!" she says with a teasing wave, before returning to the Town Car.

"Alexis…," Beckett starts to say, wondering how she could justify an inquiry into the girl's safety.

"Don't worry, Kate," Alexis replies with a smile. "Dad talked to me about personal security. Paul's armed, and he's taking me right home, where I'll be escorted into the loft," she says with a nod to her driver.

"Still, be careful, please," Beckett warns unnecessarily, getting an eye roll from Castle's daughter as she gets back into the Town Car. Still nervous, Beckett climbs into the van and consoles herself with the knowledge that she can at least figure out what this morning's lark is all about.

"Lanie?" Beckett asks, starting to get perturbed when her friend offers no explanation.

"Don't even, girl," Lanie says with a raised palm. "Just sit back and enjoy the ride." The three cruisers that pull into line behind them only a block later hardly help assuage Beckett's curiosity.


"Hey Rodgers!" Ben Costa yells out. "Or should I say Castle?"

With a sigh that's barely noticed by the group in front of him, Castle curses his rotten luck. After managing to deflect Gina's efforts to get him to add more book signings, he's somehow gotten himself stuck at an FDNY fundraiser where he's doing exactly that. And it's not like it's going to make Gina happy – she'll be angry that Sal succeeded where she failed, and she'll be quick to point out that this is highly unlikely to boost the sales of his books, especially since he didn't tell Paula about today's outing until half an hour before he got here (and caught hell for that, too). The only thing that has gone right is that he's avoided the work. As the resident author, he gets to sit in an uncomfortable folding chair at a rickety card table to sign books and chat while his colleagues have to spend their downtime mimicking their jobs.

"Yeah, Ben?" Castle answers, turning to see his captain. Alarm bells ring loudly in Castle's mind when he sees Costa's wide smile. In more than two months working with him, Castle can't remember ever seeing Costa smile.

"Time to get to work," Costa says with a laugh, which is an odd enough occurrence that it catches the attention of several of the nearby firefighters, "now that your people have arrived. And, sorry, but you know how the rest of the guys feel about cops, so they're all yours," he says while lifting an arm to point to the approaching NYPD motorcade, led by a coroner's van.

"Shut the front door," Castle grumbles to himself in disbelief as he hears the laughs of his coworkers around him.

With a honk from the van, the vehicles pull into the school parking lot where they've set up the fundraising carwash, earning disgruntled looks from people in the long line of cars who were already awaiting their turn. Lanie's waving vigorously from the van, smile so wide that Castle can't help but chuckle. He's just raising his hand in reply when a sponge thrown by one of his firehouse colleagues hits him in the side of the head, raising another round of laughs. With a sigh, Castle picks up the sponge, grabs a bucket, and charges, ever so slowly, into the breach.

"Please tell me I don't need to wash the inside," Castle quips as he approaches Lanie's window of the ME's van.

"Hi, Castle," Lanie answers in reply, still smiling wide. "The outside alone is enough. Of the van, I guess," she clarifies, sounding sad.

Castle can't help but chuckle at her teasing. "I don't know, Lanie, vans cost extra. Sure you can afford it?"

Making her readiness for this situation more than apparent, Lanie happily pulls a roll of money out of her pocketbook. "All I've got are singles," she says while craning her neck out the window and looking down. "And it doesn't look like your shorts have pockets. Wherever shall I tuck my dollar bills?"

"I'm sure we'll think of something," he answers with a leer, followed quickly by a chuckle before he looks across the van to see Lanie's blushing co-pilot. "Hi, Beckett," he offers quietly.

"Hi, Rick," she answers, ignoring Lanie's puking gesture at their painfully careful interaction. "If you come around to my side, I've got a coffee for you," she coaxes. In reply, Castle hustles over with enough eagerness to raise a large smile. Unfortunately, his antics cause him to miss what Lanie's up to now that she's unattended.

"Still hot?" Beckett asks as Castle takes a long sip, hoping that reversing their old coffee ritual might help them move forward.

"Of course I am, Beckett, not that much has changed," he answers with a wicked look, prompting a joyous eye roll, a somewhat bizarre concept that she readily embraces. Whatever follow-up Castle was planning to offer, though, disappears under a spray of cold water and a squawk.

"Tommy, what the hell?" Castle asks as he turns, not bothering to hide his tone of betrayal. With the arm not holding a hose still in a sling to remind him of their close call, Castle figured that Tommy would be the last person he'd have to worry about.

"Sorry, Rick," Tommy offers with a shrug and resulting flinch, "but I owed Lanie for sneaking Shannon in to see me at the hospital," he answers with a blush. "She thought you'd look better…," he trails off, nodding at Castle's white FDNY t-shirt, which is now soaked, translucent, and clinging. Letting his head fall as he shakes it (both in dismay and to shed some of the fatter drops of water), Castle takes a deep breath before reaching for the bucket.

Just after he picks it up, though, a loud burst of static assaults his ears. "Please move along," booms Karpowski's voice authoritatively from her cruiser's megaphone. "There's plenty to see here!" As cars around the lot honk in agreement, Castle sighs again and prepares to get soapy.


"Hi, Daddy," Alexis calls out from her spot on the far side of the kitchen island as Castle enters the loft, trying in vain to hide her smile.

"You, my dearest daughter," Castle intones seriously, "are in somuchtrouble."

"What?" Alexis answers in feigned ignorance. "What could I possibly have done? I've been busy studying all day. I certainly didn't have time to get into any mischief. Or talk to any FDNY captains. Or make any calls. Or post any online announcements. Or donate my allowance to a good cause. Or…"

"So. Much. Trouble," Castle repeats as he stalks towards her, still wet and fully intending to share his misery by giving his daughter a monstrous hug.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Alexis says, pretending to ignore her father. "Lanie called and left a message for you, though it doesn't make any sense."

"Yes?" Castle asks, still moving closer and raising his arms to cut off Alexis' escape routes.

"She said," Alexis says while trying not to laugh, "You missed a spot!" she squeals as she makes a break for the stairs, her father in close pursuit behind her.


A/N: A couple notes this time, and we'll start with the bad news. I didn't get much writing (or reading) done last week, so my cushion of written chapters is now gone. If things go well, I'll post one more time this week. After that, though, I'm headed to Alaska for a vacation during which I don't expect to have a computer or access to the internet. So, this story definitely won't conclude until probably mid- to late-July.

Even if I'm successful at posting again this week, it might be a partial update, since chapter twelve is getting a little out of control. I've only finished one scene and it's nearly as long as chapter eight, so it's likely going to need to be split. We'll see.

I enjoyed the reaction to chapter ten – thanks for the comments and PMs. Certainly some vigorous debate about what's going on between the characters, which I'm sure won't be helped by further developments in this chapter. Our protagonists will be back in the same place in the next chapter.

Finally, while I've replied to all the reviews I could, I can't reply to those who've logged in as guests. Thanks for the thoughts there; I'll save my reply to some of the issues raised there for the end of the story. (Except for the cello comment – it made the trip well, though we'll not be taking it with to Alaska.) If you're the guest who posted a review that listed right after 3rdfah's on June 22 (the review that started with "This is really interesting…"), I'd appreciate it if you'd drop me a PM.