A/N: Hi again! I hope that you are all still enjoying this and aren't just getting annoying update notifications every week haha.

There are references to the TV show Firefly again in this chapter (which is awesome and you should watch if you haven't already), and the lyrics to In My Veins by Andrew Belle are used. I own nothing- Firefly would be still airing now if it were up to me!

Your feedback, as always, makes me grin like an idiot.

In the weeks that followed, Kate and I built up a routine that we followed like clockwork. We'd hardly see each other at school, sit with different friends at lunch but catch up in English. There I'd write the story of our suspect and she'd smirk over at me, throwing bits of paper at the snoring guy I discovered after a few lessons was called Keith, and was just as interested to find out how many throws it took for him to wake up, so long as we made sure our teacher didn't catch him sleeping and us bouncing bits of paper off his head.

When the final bell rang we'd rush to meet at the gates, we'd stop by the coffee shop on our way, and then we'd make our way into the forest, tripping over fallen branches and reciting the details of our day. Inside we'd crack away pieces of the puzzle, putting it together and pulling it apart. Every detail inscribed in the notebook that should be filled with maths equations, but became my first novel, and the open doors of the biggest cupboard in the caravan, that became her first murder board.

On Saturday morning we'd go back; spend the afternoon marathoning Nebula 9 and Firefly until we could quote both to perfection. And Sundays we got into the habit of going to the comic-book store early before going home to share brunch with her and her family. Over the past couple of weeks I'd found out about Kate's childhood; how she spent the last summer working to pay for her motorbike, and how her grandad taught her the art of illusion, but she preferred the kind of magic you could see.

One Sunday morning Kate's parents were away at a retreat, and I invited her round to share breakfast with me and my usually-hungover mother, who having gotten to know Beckett from their few short encounters and my stories had pretty much started planning our wedding, and had declared the Saturday before, "tomorrow morning, with any luck, I will be experiencing the after effects of a good night."

Which was how Beckett and I found ourselves making bloody Mary's at 10am the next morning.

"You sure this'll work?" Beckett asked, wrinkling her nose as she added yet more chunks of tomato to the blender.

"Definitely. And if we don't find anything about the case it's a great excuse to see you in a dress." I grinned, wiggling my eyebrows.

Beckett slapped my hand as I reached for the lemon, hiding a smile. She nodded thoughtfully. "Our victim attended these events twice a year, we're bound to meet someone who'll be able to tell us a little about his background, maybe even shed some light on why he was killed." She mused, flicking the edge of her stripy scarf away from the blender and adjusting her beret before wiping the chopping board with a wet cloth. "Your mum won't mind giving away her tickets?" She asked.

"One of her... admirers" I shuddered, "gives them to her for free, and she says she doesn't believe in charity. I'm pretty sure she'll be happy to swap them for an ice pack."

Kate raised an eyebrow, watched me pour a generous amount of vodka into the blender, "How can she not believe in charity?"

I took up the pose of a model, leant delicately against the counter and mimicked my mother's carefully pronounced dramatic drawl, "We make our own way in this world, Richard, we don't beg for anything.'"

Beckett shook her head at me and laughed, turned back to the uncut-lemon on her chopping board, "Ah..." she paused "Whether this helps or not I think I'd prefer to have the headache than drink this." She said as she added the final squeeze of lemon juice to the scarlet smoothy.

I laughed, pouring the final product into a large glass and watching the red liquid jiggle. I licked an escaping drop off my finger and winced, "Agreed."

When we opened the door to my mother's room she was sprawled dramatically on top of her red silk sheets, one arm splayed above her like a fallen heroine.

"Richard, Katherine." She waved us into her room with the graceful flick of her wrist and pulled herself into a sitting position. My mother gave a long sigh of self-pity before clasping the red-filled glass Kate offered her and flashed us her camera-ready smile. "so, unless you two are here out of the kindness of your tender hearts, I assume that you want something?"

I could hear them through the door as I paced to the rhythm of their dimmed speech and musical laughter.

Then the door opened and all I could see was Kate. One look at her and I forgot how to breathe, and I think that was the first time that I could see her as more than my best friend who was hot in ripped jeans and testing smiles; because now she was pure fiction in a silky black dress that clung to her frame like liquid coal, her glossy hair spiralled on top of her head and lose strands licking the pale skin of her neck. Kate stood in the doorway in silver ballet-pumps, soft and shy in a way I'd never known her to be.

"Kate. Wow. You look... Wow."

"Yeah?" Kate smiled, and for once it wasn't catlike, but gentle in a way that made me think of a kitten. And she looked so uncertain when I nodded that my heart melted a little further.

On our way out of the door Beckett stated that she felt "shiny" after the celebratory champagne my mother had poured before allowing us to leave. I laughed at the Firefly quote as I locked the door but nearly dropped the key, my hands too shaky to find the keyhole.

I tried to focus on the knowing quirk of her lip, the impatient tapping of her feet when it took me too long to open the door; trying to focus on the fact that this was Beckett. I tried to reason-away the motion-sick butterflies that burst to life when she brushed my hand with hers, but not even the familiarly chipping black nail-varnish could dull my nerves. If anything the reminder that this was Kate; my syfi-quoting comic-book-reading best friend, as well as the most beautiful person I'd ever seen in real life or on TV, forced the butterflies into an energetic tango that I feared would never stop. Even after all of these years I find it hard to say when the butterflies stopped dancing, in my mind the music never stopped.

We got into the hotel using the VIP passes my mother gave us, having made our way there on a crowded bus where we received more than a few questioning looks. Within a few minutes of arriving outside the towering, glass building, we were stood watching the sea of well-dressed strangers ripple and break into a roar of organised claps web finally the ribbon was cut after a long, well-pronounced speech.

"Do you see his wife?" Kate asked over the noise.

Over the past couple of weeks we had found out through newspaper articles and google that the runner was the owner of 'get a life', a self-help business that specialised in holding empowering talks, selling over-priced books, and, apparently, killing their spokesman, Malcolm Maise. Malcolm had just turned forty and had married his high school sweetheart when they were in college. Their daughter, Cleo, was in her twenties and was in and out of the tabloids for a series of indecent exposures and... public urination. We had quickly decided that she was our best bet to grill for information.

After scanning the crowd I shook my head, grabbed two appetisers from a silver serving platter and offered one to Beckett.

She took it with a grateful smile, "thanks, I'm starving..." She took a small bite and glared at the fancy-cheese-on-a-stick, "not that this'll help... do they seriously expect us to survive off a portion this size? No wonder everyone here is skinny and annoyed." Beckett said, nodding over at one particularly irritated-looking woman, whose shrill voice was audible even from the opposite end of the hall.

I laughed, paused while I took the older woman in through narrowed eyes, "Wait a sec isn't that..?"

Kate gasped, caught on at the same moment, nearly dropping her tiny cocktail stick in shock, "his daughter!"

I nodded enthusiastically, "so Cleo finds out about her dad's murder, knows about her mother's dark past in the CIA-"

Beckett sighed and folded her arms, and I thought she was right about the portion size.

"Work with me here."

She rolled her eyes dramatically, "fine. Her mother's dark past in the CIA..?"

"Right, so she knows her mum has plenty of contacts who could get the job done, and Cleo finds it suspicious that her dad died in what seemed to be a professional hit when her parents haven't been talking much lately, and her dad's been staying late at the office..." I trailed off, watching Cleo take a large gulp from her glass.

Kate smiled, took a deep breath and carried on where I left off "And when her mum gets handed that huge inheritance and barely cries at the funeral, she starts to wonder... And tonight they barely spoke but here they are, playing nice for the cameras, because even though she doubts her mother she wouldn't want anyone knowing that..."

I nodded, "But when her mother makes a sarcastic remark about her dad's business choices and shoe sense she needs really just another drink, or maybe two..."

"Maybe she'll let some sympathetic passer-by buy her a drink or two, even if they do look a little under-age..."

"Plus the guy is ruggedly handsome, so when he shows an interest in her she doesn't want to question it, even though the girl he's with is totally checking him out." I grinned and nudged her with my shoulder.

Kate barked out a laugh but didn't question it, linked her arm through mine and said, "so Castle, can I buy you a drink?"

Cleo looked up when we approached, the edges of her airy blue dress glimpsing the floor when she shifted. From up close I could see that she was in her mid-twenties, with shadows under her heavily-made-up eyes and her grey skin coated with a thick layer of foundation.

"Hi, Cleo, is it? I'm Rick and this is my friend Kate." I offered my hand which she took with a delicate grip, and watched as she exchanged a measuring smile with Beckett.

"I'm so sorry to hear about your loss." Kate said gently.

Cleo nodded her thanks and swirled the remaining liquid around her glass. She drained it in one gulp before slamming it on the bar "Can I buy you kids a drink?"

An hour later we were still sat with Cleo, her tongue a lot looser than it had been when we first met, and as she clinked the most resent empty glass against the others. Kate said, "It must've been hard though, losing him so suddenly" she took a delicate sip of her drink and waited for Cleo's response.

"Yeah, it was unexpected to say the least." The older woman nodded slowly, eyes trained to the clutter of glasses in front of her.

"Must be difficult for your mother, after they've been together so long..." I added, careful not to look at Kate, who's piercing eyes said that I was being too obvious.

"Yeah. She hasn't said much to me, but I imagine she's grieving in her own way." She shrugged her thin shoulders, "if you ask me though, my dad was dead to her long before he was murdered."

Kate and I shared a look of surprise and Cleo carried on, forcing words out around her alcohol-induced-slur "and my grandad, well, he's happy because at least he gets the money my dad owed him."

Neither Beckett nor I spoke for a moment while we considered this. Absently I picked up one of the many decorative vases that was lined on the bar, prodded the plastic leaves with interest.

"What is he doing?" I heard Cleo murmur to Kate, who's eye-roll I heard rather than saw, if that's even possible.

"He... touches things." Kate muttered.

"The money?" I prodded, nearly dropping the vase when I placed it back on the bar.

"The money. My grandad helped him start the business, but- don't tell anyone, will you?- But the business was losing more money than it was making recently, and it looked like he may never get paid."

Kate and I decided it was time to leave when we saw her angry looking mother approaching and Cleo nearly fell off her chair in distress.

"Does that make Cleo's mum our most likely suspect?" Kate asked as we made our way over to an empty table.

"Or her grandad?" I asked. "Or, none of them killed him and an alien spaceship took him and probed him, but he knew too much, so they sent their strongest green men in black masks to... take care of it."

Kate sighed and shook her head, "considering how much we know I'm not ruling out alien abduction." She slid into an empty chair and picked up one of the disposable camera's the host had dotted randomly around the room, read the note that said 'make memories' with bemused expression, before placing it back on the table and looking up at me.

"All I know is that this is just getting interesting."

Kate huffed out a laugh that was half frustration, half tiredness, and completely adorable.

I scooped the camera from the cloth-covered table and slid it into my pocket.

"For evidence" I said when I caught Beckett's questioning gaze, "I'm tired of sitting," I declared after a moment, offered her my hand and my most charming half-smile to Kate, "want to dance?"

Kate grinned and slid her smaller hand into mine. I squeezed softly as I led her to the dance floor, admiring the perfect fit; the way the gaps between my fingers were filled with hers, and was reminded of the way our sentences finish each-other's.

I pulled her flush against me when one song ended and another begun, and I could feel her smiling against my collar-bone, her breath skirting against my open shirt, the music swirling around us and the hundreds of other guests dissolving with it.

"Nothing goes as planned.
Everything will break.
People say goodbye.
In their own special way.
All that you rely on
And all that you can fake
Will leave you in the morning
But find you in the day"

"I don't know why, but I've always loved this song." Kate said, looking up when I didn't say anything, her wide-green eyes searching mine and her lips lifting with her gaze.

I swallowed, "Me too." I said finally.

A few silky strands of hair had come lose, brushing her sharp cheekbones when she ducked her head shyly; I tucked them behind one ear without thinking; and it felt like we'd been this way forever. And I wasn't sure who this girl was in my arms; her body soft and and warm and melting into mine, the smell of cherries radiating for miles and the silky material of her dress grazing the floor with a smooth hush, because there wasn't a sarcastic comment or an eye-roll to be heard or seen, but I liked her; I really liked her.

I pulled the camera from my pocket with one hand and turned the dial, waiting for the resounding click, Kate looked up at the sound, her eyes dark and hazy in the blearing lights, and her coy smile bright under the camera's flash.

"For evidence." I explained when she raised one perfect eyebrow in question.

"Mmhmm..." She smirked, and there was the Beckett I knew, knowing and dark and slightly cynical. But there was something extra, a foreign confidence that I wasn't used to: and I think that was the moment Nikki Heat was born. She brushed her lips against my ear and I shivered, "I'm going to go speak to our guy's mum; she's heading over to the bar. Act inconspicuous, if that's even possible for you."

I chuckled as she pulled away, "You won't even know I'm here."

"Hey." Kate said, sinking into the chair opposite me half an hour later.

I looked up and smiled, "about time! I was staring to think you'd climbed out the window."

"And miss seeing your face when I tell you what I found?" she paused dramatically, and I leaned forward in anticipation "Mrs. Runner hardly inherited anything from her husband."

My mouth fell open in the amazed expression Beckett had probably hoped for, "Seriously?" I asked.

"Yep." Kate nodded. "Like Cleo said he owed more than he had."

"So, financially at least, his family wouldn't have a lot to gain out of his death, but the people he owed-"

"Would get paid in full, right."

I considered this as I watched the rows of dancing people fall in and out of time. After a moment I looked over at Kate, stirring her drink distractedly and chewing her lower lip.

"Hey, we'll work it out." I said confidently, finally noticed the dark half-moons under her eyes, the heavy fall of her shoulders, "maybe we need to sleep on it."

Kate's eyebrows shot into her hairline and she snorted out a sharp laugh, which she caught with one hand.

"Separately Beckett!" I laughed, gasping in feigned shock, deciding that Kate had either had too much to drink or not enough.

Half an hour later Beckett allowed me to lead her to the bus stop without much resistance, and when the bus drove up and we gave the tired looking driver our return tickets, Kate sat down in the first seat we came across and said, "might have to join Keith in sleeping through English tomorrow."

"I promise to throw as many bits of paper at you as humanly possible." I replied seriously.

Kate laughed and rested her head on my shoulder for the rest of the thirty-minute journey to her house, the glittering toes of her pumps tucked under her dress on the hard seat. Looking down I noticed that she'd replaced her usually thick eyeliner with a delicate dusting of silver glitter. She blinked up at me and smiled before nuzzling into my tux, her eyes drifting shut, and I remember thinking that there was a universe in her eyes. I wrapped one arm around her as soundlessly as I could, amazed when she snuggled into me when I half expected her to push me off the plastic seat.

The only other passenger was an greying old man who drunk systematically out of a tin flask for the entirety of the journey; he raised it to us when I met his eyes and took a long swig. I remember hoping he toasted to the strange well-dressed teenagers; the beautiful girl in the long black dress, and the doting guy with one arm around her and his eyes wide open despite the darkness outside; feeling like he'd never be able to sleep again. The way I remember it; he toasted to the hope that they'd make it, and I remember thinking that I hoped so too.