Author's Note: See notes on Chapter One for a more complete introduction. This chapter took much longer to write than I had planned; I think it's the transition in their early relationship that I'm having difficulty with—it's more challenging than I expected to keep the later episodes out of it and stick to only what's in the first season so far, without rushing the characters to who they are currently in the third season. I also realized that I was trying to put too much into a single chapter, so this one just deals with the end of episode 1.5 A Chill Goes Through Her Veins. Hopefully it won't take me so long to update again, and thanks for waiting.

Disclaimer: Castle and its characters do not belong to me, I make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just enjoying some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where I'm directly quoting the episode.

Richard Castle, Grown-Up

Chapter Two: The Onion's First Layers

Maybe he did have some redeeming qualities; maybe she'd let him follow her a little while longer.

If that was going to be the situation, though, she had to tell him about her mom's case. He notices things, and I can't have him forever bringing Mom up. I can't work with that kind of constant distraction. Everyone else already knew the story, and they also knew it was a taboo subject. Her suffering was common knowledge, as was the belief that if anyone could have solved it, Johanna Beckett's daughter would have done it.

Castle hung up the phone, looking a little sheepish. "Alexis missed me," was the justification he gave for his soft-hearted talk to the girl on the other end of the line. She bantered with him for a moment, then took a deep breath and launched in. "By the way, it was my mother, not my father." Instantly the joking attitude vanished and he settled back into what he had come to think of as "his" chair at Beckett's desk. He knew this was difficult for her and was pleased that she was finally telling him what had happened without further prodding on his part.

"We were supposed to go dinner together, my mom, my dad, and I, and she was going to meet us at the restaurant but she never showed. Two hours later, we went home and there was a detective waiting for us, Detective Raglan. They found her body, she had been stabbed." She stopped.

"A robbery?" he queried. He didn't want the narrative to end yet; he still had so many unanswered questions. "No. She still had her money, her purse and jewelry. And it wasn't a sexual assault, either. They attributed it to gang violence. A random, wayward event."

Now they were getting to the crux of why this particular case that they had just closed of a mom missing for years had been so frustrating for Beckett. It also explained why she had experienced such a strong reaction to the man who was now a sheriff, the man who had initially investigated the case several years ago. Castle remembered her words when they returned to the car after talking with the man in the coffee shop: "I hate cops like him. Guys like him, things only make sense if they fit in the box. So they make them fit and murderers go free." It wasn't just that she was helping a family find the closure that had eluded her all these years, it was about finally knowing the truth, a precious commodity to someone who didn't have her own answers yet.

Her voice, continuing the story, pulled him back to the present, or rather, to her past. "They couldn't think outside the box so they just tried to package it up nicely and the killer was never caught." My instincts were right—that was almost the same wording she had used before, about the other case. This one had hit far too close to her own story, to the way the truth had been disregarded because it required more thought and searching than was convenient. He had already understood that she valued the truth highly; he had witnessed it as she went to bring in the grandfather despite empathizing with why he had killed his son-in-law, a murderer the police hadn't been able to catch. But now he comprehended that the truth itself was what drove her to do her job so completely, to provide certainty for others despite not being able to provide it for herself. Even though the truth might hurt, it was better than the not knowing.

Castle realized that she was extending a sort of olive branch to him; she trusted him enough to tell him about her mom's case. And they had worked together to find this killer, to obtain answers for this family. In fact, she had come to him for help. She never said those words exactly, but he knew enough about her state of mind to not make her verbalize the request. Maybe they were on their way to friendship at last.

Storyteller that he was, however, he thought that perhaps he should have a go at this one. Possibly he'd be able to solve the case and ingratiate himself to the pretty detective in the process. A win-win situation, if I do say so. Now, who would get the file for me?

She stood up and the movement caught his attention. Keys in hand, Beckett was headed out for the night.

"Until tomorrow, Detective."

"You can't just say 'night,' Castle?"

"I'm a writer. 'Night' is boring. 'Until tomorrow' is more… hopeful."

"Yeah, well, I'm a cop. Night."

As she walked away, he quietly tried out the word himself. "Night." Maybe it wasn't so boring coming from her. She had a way of making him look at things differently. She was… complex; there was more to her than many of the women he had known. Perhaps that was what made her so interesting? He was almost glad she had refused his offer to "debrief" each other at the end of that first case. Had he gotten what he wanted at the time, he was uncomfortably aware that he would have lost interest in her all too soon, having never taken the time to really get to know each facet of her personality. That would have been tragic, indeed.

As he contemplated Detective Beckett, another detective approached him from behind.

"With as many women as you have fawning all over you, do you really want to go after the one you can't have?" Javier Esposito asked him in a teasing tone. "I knew this was going to be better than Shark Week!"

He rose from the chair, turned around and faced the grinning man. "Can't have? Do you really believe that?"

"Man, Beckett's not the love-'em and leave-'em type. And she's met enough powerful men that have turned out to be creeps that she won't be impressed by your money or status, either. Now, what do you have left in your arsenal? I'm telling you, what you've used before will not work with this woman. She's got class."

He put his hand to his chest in mock pain. "You wound me, Detective. But that really doesn't matter. I'm not out to have anyone. I was simply considering her mother's case."

"Her mother? Johanna Beckett's case? She told you about it?" The look of stunned disbelief on his face was almost comical.

"Yeah, of course. Why would you even ask me that?"

"I'm just surprised, that's all. That was a very painful part of her life. She never talks about it. We all know what happened," he gestured with his hand in a circular motion, indicating the group of desks at hand, "but it's because we watched it from the outside. We saw how late she stayed, the dark circles that didn't leave her face for years, but she didn't share much of that with any of us. We were all beat cops back then, still getting to know each other and trying to make it in this tough environment. None of us dared approach her about why she became a cop because we all knew, and eventually she shared bits and pieces with those of us that are closest to her. Lanie probably knows the most about it, and the toll it took on her in those early years."

"Yes, well, maybe she's just mellowed about it. Anyway, her reason doesn't really matter. I was hoping you'd get me a look at that file, see if there's anything I can find…"

"What?" Esposito almost shouted. As a few heads snapped up from paperwork, he shook his head and lowered his voice before continuing. "No way! She told you what she wanted you to know and I'm not going to have her reading her mom's story on page seventy five of your new book. She'd kill me if she found out that I'd given you access to that file!"

"Wait a minute, you're misunderstanding my motives, here. I'm not trying to give Nikki a back-story, I just want to help Beckett solve this case."

"Help? Come on, Castle. You're a writer. You can't just make up details to fix this, to rewrite it with some kind of satisfying conclusion. Detective Beckett is one of the best in all of New York. Forget that, she's one of the best in the country. Why would she need your help to solve the case? And what makes you so sure that you'd find something she missed, if she missed anything, that is?"

"Look, Esposito. You know she's looked over this case too much and it's her mother we're talking about. She's too close to see everything clearly. Besides, even if I'm no help, I've got contacts, professionals I've worked with in the past who might notice something, who can be counted on to keep this close to the vest. Let me try. Please?"

A reluctant but ultimately convinced Esposito took him to the recesses of the records room and left him there with multiple threats ringing in his ears about what would happen to Castle should Beckett find out about his help with these extracurricular activities. Rick settled down to do some reading. Now this kind of research he enjoyed; the atmosphere down here was amazing! A small desk, a dim work lamp, surrounded by files from years ago. Very film noir. Very appropriate for his upcoming novel.

He threaded his fingers together and stretched his arms out from his body, then opened the file and began looking. Now, to find the story that makes everything make sense. After reading page after page of notes, scanning crime scene photos and the M.E.'s report, he quickly became discouraged at the sheer volume of information here; there was no way to put it all together in a few hours, even though he was a speed reader. He'd have to smuggle the file out, copy it, and return it tomorrow. That would be a little tricky, but it was do-able and definitely safer than sneaking down here each day after working with Detective Beckett—too many ways to get caught. He didn't want to get her hopes up if he couldn't solve the case. Besides, he had to have something for his consultants to look at, too. There really was no way he could do this on his own; his contacts and resources would surely be needed if he was to have any hope of solving what had happened to Johanna Beckett.