Well, many of you asked for an update sooner than Thursday, so I bring this to you...one day early. It's a weak effort, but I honestly cannot believe it's already been six days since I published this story. Life has been busy, so thank you for all of the reviews and encouragement. And once again, thanks to suz24 for beta-ing.

If it's any consolation, this chapter is much longer than the last. To clarify, this story will take place from the end of season 2 to mid-season 3, with obvious changes of course. This story is AU, but various timeline events in both universes remain the same.

Hope you enjoy!

"All right, boys. Gather 'round. We got a fresh one."

Like dutiful children, Esposito and Ryan crowd her desk, pressing closer to see the details on her notepad.

"You two ride down to the scene together, and I'll meet you there. I have something to take care of first."

"Something to take care of, Beckett? Like your boyfriend maybe?" Esposito leers at her while Ryan snickers into his sleeve, a pitiful attempt at a fake cough.

"Oh, ha ha. Very funny. Try not to distract Lanie from her job by pining too loudly, will you?"

His face sours, and he leaves without another word, Ryan trailing behind. Score one for Beckett.

She takes the stairs two at a time down from homicide. Gonna have to make this quick unless she want more flak from her team. She's standing outside the bullpen in a few short moments, looking for him when she feels two warm hands latch onto her waist from behind, dragging her into a deserted hallway.

"Good morning, Detective. So, you have a decision for me?" he whispers into her ear.

She squirms uncomfortably out of his grasp. "Hey, you. PDA in the precinct is strictly off-limits, remember?"

"Oh, really?" His grin is equal parts attractive and irritating. "Because I seem to remember a sultry kiss a few floors up from here not too long ago. And I don't think you were complaining at the time. Actually, I think you might have started it." He reaches for her again.

She takes a step back. "No," the warning tone of her voice is evident.

"But, Beckett."

"Tom."

End of discussion. His eyes cloud over in disappointment, maybe a bit of annoyance too. In fact, he seems rather miffed. Whatever. Her job, her part in the relationship, her rules. He doesn't have to like it, just has to respect her enough to listen when told.

"So? What did you come down here for?"

She sighs, fingers pressed to her temple. "Look, I'm sorry. It's just…it's hard enough being a woman around here without adding fooling around at the workplace into the mix. Let alone with a co-worker."

"It's okay, Kate. Really, I get it." He musters a grin, some of that familiar, teasing light back in his eyes, reminding her of how they got here in the first place. Her heart swells with it. "What can I say? You are my weakness. You and that smoking body of yours."

"Yeah?" She bites her lip on a shy smile.

"Totally."

Oh, what the hell. She's always been impulsive. Why not just give this thing a shot? "You know, I was actually going to stop down here to ask for more time. But I think I already have my answer."

"And?"

"And…my answer is yes."

He does a little hop of victory, eyes gleaming, and leans close once more, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. "Awesome. You won't regret it, babe," he calls, walking backwards into the bullpen. "I promise!"

Ugh, 'babe' is officially sooo forbidden in the precinct too. She'll have to tell him that later, over dinner. For now…yeah, maybe making a decision like that on a whim wasn't her greatest idea ever, but what's the worst that could happen? It's just the weekend after all.

"The whole Memorial Day weekend away together? With Tom Demming? And you, Little Miss Commitaphobe, actually agreed to it?"

"Lanie," the detective hisses over her clipboard. "Keep it down. This is a crime scene."

"Don't you tell me to keep it down. This, Kate Beckett, is a big frickin' deal. I thought you told me yesterday that you were planning on saying no."

"Well, I was. But I kind of kicked him to the curb this morning, and he was pretty understanding about it. I decided that I might as well just give this thing a shot." A wave of self-doubt crashes over. "Why? Do you think I made the wrong decision?"

"It's just not like you, Kate. First come vacation getaways, then come marriage proposals…"

"Oh, shit." Once she is in full-fledged panic mode, there is no getting her out of it. "Lanie, this is a big commitment. What have I done?"

Her last serious relationship was with Will, but it was years ago. And look how that turned out. Is she ready for such a big step?

"Relax, girl. I didn't say it was the wrong decision." The sassy ME rolls her eyes. "In fact, I'm happy for you. It's about time you just let loose. Enjoy yourself."

"So, what, that little stunt you just pulled was all for show? Jesus, you are the queen of mixed messages." Kate lets out an embarrassing pant of relief. "How the hell did you even know why I was late?"

Lanie smirks, glancing over at the Latino detective who, at the moment, is a little more than preoccupied with a hysterical witness. "A little birdy must have told me."

She scoffs, "Right. And was this little bird named Javier Esposito, by chance?"

"Mmm, maybe. He might have said, and I quote, 'Beckett? Oh, yeah, she's busy with the jackass.' And, you know, I just had to assume that he was talking about a certain robbery detective boyfriend."

"Seriously?"

"Well, Kate, you have to admit. He is a bit of a jackass."

She sticks her tongue out at her so-called-friend, and the medical examiner just laughs. Oh yeah? Well, screw you, Lanie. "Let's just get back to the murder, shall we?"

And to her credit, the woman does just that. "Our victim is a white male, early forties."

"Cause of death?"

"Strangulation. But I'd have to say he was dead before he got strung up here."

Beckett examines the body, dangling by a rope from a shop's awning. "What makes you say that?"

"His neck. It's not broken. No hangman's fracture. Spinal cord isn't twisted. And the rope is too tight for him to have simply tried to hang himself and died of suffocation. Not to mention that his eyes are closed. I can't be sure until I get him back to the lab, but I'd bet you my degree, Detective. This is no suicide."

"Not suicide," Kate swallows, watching the sun in the alley glint off the victim's skin as he swings in the early morning breeze. Eerie. "Got it."

"Beckett!" Ryan signals her over with a waving hand. He's waist deep in a dumpster, beaming from ear to ear, bless him. "Got an ID for you! Marshall Greene, age forty-two. Lives about ten blocks away from here."

"Good work. Let's wrap this up and get a canvass going on the neighborhood, see if anyone heard or saw the struggle. I'll go assist Espo with his friend. But, uh, get cleaned up first."

Her co-worker brushes a dangling noodle from his shoulder in mild disgust and lifts a leg out of the rubbish to hoist himself from the trash container. "On it, boss."

As soon as she approaches, she knows this is going to be rough. Esposito gives the woman sitting on a wooden crate an uneasy pat as she heaves.

"This is Jess Pearson. She works as a waitress at Reilly's Pub, just a few doors down. Our victim stopped by for one too many rounds last night. Left around 1:30. She's the one who found the body and made the 911 call this morning."

"I don't know how I missed him. I don't know how I could have missed him!" the curly-haired waitress bawls into her apron.

Kate turns to ask Esposito what else he's learned so far from the incapacitated witness, but she's already facing the back of his retreating form, the wave of his hand signaling his retreat. Great, just great. Looks like she's on her own.

"Ms. Pearson, my name is Detective Kate Beckett. If you could collect yourself for a few minutes, I'm going to have to ask you a few preliminary questions to establish a timeline. It would really be helpful to the investigation. The sooner we wrap up here, the sooner you get to go home."

The woman in question sniffles a few more times before focusing her bleary eyes on the detective's face. "Yeah, yeah. Okay. I know." She takes a deep breath. "I pulled into the garage at about seven-thirty. The bar doesn't open up until eight, but I left my purse in the back. And my wallet. Oh!" The woman gives her a guilty look. "I drove without my license."

Oh, brother. Beckett musters up a sympathetic smile, "It's okay, Ms. Pearson. I'm a homicide detective, not a traffic cop."

"Oh, good. Thank you. So, where was I? Ah, yes. I'd just pulled up. I wanted to make sure my things didn't get stolen when the other wait staff members started coming in."

"You have keys to the pub?"

"Yes. Jimmy, err, Mr. Henderson gave me a set when I started working here. He's the manager, my boss."

Aha. "So you two are seeing each other?"

Jess Pearson flushes, begins to shake her head ardently. "No, no! We're not seeing each other. Or, well, not anymore. He just trusts me. We had a fling, broke it off a while back. They say it's never good to date a coworker, you know?"

She knows all too well what they say. For the last month, she's been trying to prove them all wrong. "Right. So, Mr. Henderson. Is he the person who would have locked up last night?"

"No, I locked up. I should have seen that man hanging there, but it was so dark." She shudders. "Usually, Jim's first in, last out. But he had some business to attend to, or maybe a family thing? He left early last night."

"Will he be in this morning?"

"Nope. Told me he'd be out of town for a day or two and then left."

No way. This is just too easy. "Out of town? Do you have a number that we'd be able to reach him by?"

"Yeah, yeah." The waitress reaches into her the V-neck of her blouse and pulls out her phone, scrolling through the numbers until she reaches the right one. She rattles off the digits. "But you know," Jess says incredulously, "It's the funniest thing. I tried to call him this morning to let him know I was going to use my set of keys—just as a courtesy—and he didn't answer. Jim always answers when I call."

Case closed. "That is strange. Now, what time did he leave last night?"

"I don't know. Around eight o'clock? Maybe it was more like eight-thirty. He just packed up his satchel and told me to lock up when I finished closing the place at three." Then, the woman's eyes widen in fear. "Why? You don't think Jimmy could have done this, do you?"

The detective shakes her head. "It's impossible to come to any conclusions before we investigate all avenues. We'll have to ask him about his whereabouts during the murder and about his employees. Just some conventional things."

"Jim Henderson is a compulsive drinker, a lousy lover, and a cheat at cards. He's a lot of things, but a murderer isn't one of them."

Kate Beckett purses her lips. "Never said he was. I just have one more question. Did Mr. Greene come into Reilly's often?"

Her eyes still shimmer with distrust, but Jess Pearson answers, "No, he's not a regular. Not sure if I'd ever seen him here before. I'm usually pretty good at remembering faces."

She stands and extends her hand to the woman for a wary shake. "Thank you so much for your time, Ms. Pearson. Now, go home and get some rest."

"All signs point to Jim Henderson." Beckett grabs an Expo marker, writes his name down on one of homicide's whiteboards, and then circles it over and over in the thick, red ink. "Looks like we're going to have to pay his house a little visit. Ryan, you're with-"

"Hold up, Beckett," Javier Esposito bellows from his desk, phone held in the air, "Just got a call from downstairs. They got a guy at the desk looking for a Detective Beckett. Name's Henderson."

She feels her eyebrows rise. Their number one suspect just shows up on the 12th's doorstep? But she was so certain...

"Beckett? What should I tell 'em?"

She nods, taking a quick breath to clear her head. "Send him up."

"Well, that was a bust," Beckett sighs, exiting Interrogation as Esposito simultaneously closes the door to the observation room. "Ryan?"

"Over here, Boss. Just called St. Francis Medical Center."

"And?"

"The secretary confirmed it. Henderson was visiting with his grandmother from eleven-thirty 'til long after our vic's approximate time of death."

"They let him stay after visiting hours?" Esposito asks, brow furrowed.

"Well, yeah," Ryan answers, "They thought she wouldn't make it until morning. The family was saying their last goodbyes."

Beckett groans in frustration, hand covering her eyes. "So he was over an hour away in Jersey while the crime was being committed. That means we're back to square one. Espo, what've you got so far on our guy?"

"He rents out a one-bedroom apartment in a bad neighborhood for starters. Probably rubs shoulders with a bunch of convicted criminals."

"And they followed him all the way out to Reilly's? Keep going."

He flips through his stack of print-outs. "He's currently unemployed. Used to be a city tour guide."

"That's interesting."

"Three years ago, he was living in Queens, married to a woman named Darla Greene."

"Divorced?" Ryan pipes.

"Nah, bro. Suicide. Although it says here…" he carries off, reading the document with a look of concern.

"It says what, Esposito?" Beckett deadpans. They need a lead, any kind of lead, and she's this close to getting impatient.

"Her suicide was investigated. There was a note found on the scene, but a graphologist analyzed it. It didn't match Darla Greene's handwriting. And get this. She hanged herself."

"Coincidence?" his partner suggests warily.

Kate frowns and shakes her head. "No such thing. Let me guess, the number one suspect was her husband." So a murder based on revenge? Maybe a grieving relative learned the truth.

"Hey, how much do you know about the Copycat Vigilante, Beckett?"

The Copycat Vigilante. Now, that's a name she hasn't heard in a while. What are you playing at, Javi? "Enough to assume that this wasn't him. He hasn't made a killing in over three years."

"Doesn't mean he couldn't come back." Esposito takes an eager step closer. "It happens."

"The Copy-who?"

The two detectives turn their heads in tandem toward Kevin Ryan, sitting at his desk with a clueless expression. He's a couple years younger than she is, yeah, but this thing was headline news for years.

She sighs, "Richard Castle, otherwise known as the Copycat Vigilante. He slaughtered investigated murder suspects in the same way that their victims were killed."

"He started at it after his father supposedly axed his mom. Dude, this was a high-profile case. His old man was CIA, mom was an actress."

She imagines a light bulb blinking on over his head as Ryan's faces brightens into a smile of recollection. "Right, right. I remember. What was the body count, fourteen?"

"Fifteen now," the Latino detective says with an excited grin. "Aw, man. This is gonna be huge."

"Hey, hey. None of that. You want to speculate, I'll have the Captain send you home." She ignores the dual sulks from her teammates. They have to treat this like any other murder investigation. Getting carried away won't do her any good. "Henderson might have alibied out, but that doesn't mean we don't have any other avenues to follow. Ryan, I want you to look into the deceased wife's relatives. Find out if anyone ever threatened Greene. Esposito, work on securing some footage from local traffic cams. I'll go talk to Lanie, see if she's got anything for us yet."

"Don't you go rushing me, Kate Beckett."

"The boys have their heads wrapped up in theories. I need something solid to get them focused. No DNA? Fingerprints?"

"Girl, you know I need more time to answer those kinds of questions. Now, tell me why you're really here."

"I'm investigating a murder," Kate attempts, but Lanie gives her a death glare, and she shrinks back, mumbling, "You have to ask?"

"Kate, if you think it's such a bad idea, then don't go away with your boy. Tell him you're not ready. Tell him the truth. If he's worth it, he'll understand."

But she already told him yes. And, really, what's the big deal? It's not like he's asking her to marry him. "I'm an adult, Lanie. I should be able to make these kinds of decisions. It's a done deal. He's probably booking the hotel as we speak. Yeah, he might come off a little overly confident, but he genuinely cares. He's sweet and funny, not to mention-"

"Yeah, yeah. Your guy's a stud."

"I thought you said he was a jackass."

"Never said he wasn't a smokin' hot one."

She should've suspected that coming to see Lanie would just serve to irritate her more. "This devil's advocate thing you're doing...I don't like it."

Lanie smiles knowingly and lifts her scalpel. "You weren't meant to." She stabs the surgical knife in the air with a threatening step forward. "Now scram. Come back and bug me later. Like, tomorrow, girly. Get outta here."

Another day, another murder, and more unanswered questions. Her life is starting to get seriously dull. Well, scratch that. It's not starting to, it's been. When did that happen? When did all the fun in her life disappear?

She knows when.

But she's content enough. And why shouldn't she be? She has her health. She's got a steady job, and that's more than a lot of people can say in this economy. Sure, it doesn't have the greatest pay—not to mention hours—but she doesn't need to live lavishly. Besides, her apartment is nice, quaint. And her boyfriend, well, he's plenty nice too. A little self-confident, but sweet and attractive…

Speak of the devil. She rounds the corner to her hallway and comes face to face with Tom Demming, waiting outside the door to her place with a bouquet in hand, oh.

"Hey." He grins at her in that maddening way he's perfected and thrusts the flowers in her direction. "I've been waiting for you."

"Tom," she breathes, accepting the flowers and raising them to her nose to inhale. She smiles back softly, trying to combat the fear growing inside with her appreciation. It's too late to change her mind now, even if she wanted to. "They're beautiful."

"Yeah, well, you know." He reaches out and touches a lock of her hair, rubs it between his finger and thumb affectionately. "I'm just really happy. I want you to be happy too."

"I am," she says, can't be sure if it's a lie or not, but it feels like the only thing she can say. "Happy enough. Work was a nightmare."

"Yeah, I figured. You're getting in late. I've been standing outside your door for the past hour."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I-"

"Nah." He dismisses her apology with a wave of his hand. "It's cool. I know how it is. You're not the only hotshot detective in this relationship."

"Hmm." She digs out her keys to unlock the front door while mulling over a response. "I don't know what to comment on first: the fact that you just called me a hotshot detective, or that you just called yourself one."

"Well, we're certainly both hot."

"Oh yeah, and modest too."

"Very funny." He brushes up against her back as she enters the kitchen, set on finding something to house her roses. "What do you feel like having tonight?"

"Why, are you cooking?" She sends him a wink, and runs the tap to fill up a pitcher with water. It's not a vase, but it'll have to do.

"I'm a man." He puts his hands on his hips and pushes out his chest. "I don't cook."

Okay, well, that's just sexist. But she's too tired from her dead end case to argue. "Buying then."

Her boyfriend sidles up beside her, raises his fingers to her shoulders and begins to rub. His movements are rough, but good. "I could spare a few bucks. Thai? Pizza?"

"Mmm, I hear there's a really good Mediterranean place that came in last month. They deliver."

"Whatever you want." He presses a kiss to her cheek and then whispers, "I'm really glad you said yes. This is going to be a lot of fun. You'll see."

"I'm sure I will." She hopes, at least. "You know, Tom, this thing…nothing can be written in stone. If I get a big case-"

"Don't try to take it back, Kate Beckett."

"I'm not, I'm just saying. Don't go making any elaborate reservations yet."

"Everything is going to be fine, babe." Tom bumps his hip into her own, playfully. "What's the worst that could happen in a week?"

Thanks for reading. Leave comments down below. Now, who's ready for season 6?