A/N: Thank you so much for the continued support people - its so very much appreciated. And its my hope that you'll all be even more confused and intrigued by the end of this chapter . . . .so without further ado.

Chapter Seven: It seems you want me just to watch me fall.

Five months ago:

"It means Richard . . . that I'm CIA."

There's just a loud silence in the wake of Gabor's statement, as all the sounds of nature around them blur to mere white noise.

And if Castle was feeling stunned before . . . waking up both abducted and half way around the world in the company of a father he's never met . . . well then he can't quite come up with a suitable adjective to describe his current state now.

CIA?

Seriously?

No. Freaking. Way!

There's a small boy somewhere inside him that's jumping up and down and beyond excited because he's always – without fail – pictured the man who fathered him as being something pretty cool. And okay sure, it was a coping mechanism . . . a child's coping mechanism for when having it constantly pointed out to you that you were 'fatherless' got old. And maybe he turned that into a facade of being 'totally blase' about the 'not knowing' but still . . . and it maybe true that spurred him to become the best possible father he could be – but still – that small boy is jumping nevertheless.

And then of course there's a younger – but adult – version of himself – one who was once pretty crazy about a poisonous CIA agent named 'Sophia Turner' who suddenly feels a tiny bit redeemed because she told him one thing at least that apparently is true.

But then there's the current version of Rick Castle . . . the one who knows that all he ever wants is to be by Kate Beckett's side and it's this version of himself who finds his voice here.

It's this version that's in control.

"And how does that have anything to do with me?" He demands.

Gabor sighs and points at the food in front of his son.

"Eat Richard." He says.

Castle shakes his head. "Stop telling me what to do and start talking. You said you brought me here because 'they' were going to kill me." He states, using air quotes around the word 'they' as thunderclouds gather in his eyes.

"Now you're asking me to believe that not only did you love my mother . . . but that you're CIA?"

Gabor nods.

"So tell me how that's relevant Gabor? Tell me why someone wants me dead and who the hell are they? And how do you know about it for crying out loud?" Castle's voice is rising with each word and then something else occurs to him and the pitch escalates still further. "Is it something to do with Kate's mother's murder? Is that it? Huh Gabor. Are you a part of that?" The writer demands.

Gabor shakes his head but interestingly enough doesn't look surprised by the question. In fact if Castle had to label the look in eyes – he'd say the older man looks closer to horrified.

"No." He replies calmly. "Although I cannot tell you that I'm not aware of her case – because in following your career it invariably came up. But I have no involvement in it . . . even if some of the players that do are known to me."

"What . . . "

Gabor holds up his hand to stop Castle's question in its track.

"Don't ask who or how or what I know about it. Any knowledge I imparted to you would violate the delicate truce keeping Kate currently safe. Trust me Richard . . . and don't go there."

Rick bites his lip in a borrowed gesture from Beckett.

"So Kate is safe?" He clarifies – totally unable to not ask.

His father nods.

"For now – yes, as I already told you . . . it's you that's currently in danger."

Castle sighs.

"From whom?" He repeats again. "Why?"

"In time Richard . . . in time." His father replies. "But first . . . well I've waited a long time – forty years in fact to be able to tell you that I'm sorry – my son. For not being there – not for you and not for your mother either. If I could have been a part of your lives . . . if I could have made another choice . . . please understand that nothing would have made me happier than to have had you both."

Castle eyes Gabor warily. He wants to steer the conversation right back to the apparently imminent threat to his life – but there is just something about the look of raw honesty on his father's face. For the first time the man's 'deadly' aura is slipping and behind it glimpses of the real person are starting to emerge. His sorrow is genuine . . . although forty years too late - but ever the writer Castle finds he cannot suppress his need to know – he wants the story - the fatherless child within him needs it.

"How did you meet my mother?" He asks, going with the flow and accepting the topic of conversation for the moment. He waits patiently, going back to filling his empty stomach with food.

Richard Gabor smiles . . . "At the theatre." He replies.

Of course.

"Martha was the ingénue of Broadway back then, beautiful, vibrant and insanely talented. Gifted – just gifted and she had this light about her – it just . . . it pulled you in. I'd gone to see her in three plays before I had the courage to wait for her at the stage door one day - after a matinee. And I'd tried to talk myself out of it believe me – knew the heartbreak I was risking. But that's the thing about your mother Richard – she was just everything I wanted and I couldn't stay away."

Castle smiles inwardly thinking of Kate . . . oh he can relate.

"So what happened?" He asks. "When you met her?"

Gabor looks wistful . . . and it's a truly strange and out of place emotion on his chiseled face.

"Love at first sight I think – for both of us. I asked her to have a late lunch with me and she agreed. We spent the afternoon drinking coffee in SOHO, and I got her to tell me everything about herself – and the more she shared with me – the more in love with her I became. Those hours spent with her – simply talking . . . I would give anything to have just that again."

His father falls silent. So Castle prompts him for more.

"And then?" He asks.

"She went back to the theatre for the evening performance, and she arranged it so I could watch her from the wings. She was magical, and when the performance was over . . . "

Gabor looks a little awkward.

"You spent the night with her." Castle fills in for him.

His father nods. "The night . . . yes. A single night in which to love a lifetime."

Castle startles at the choice of phrase, hears his mother's voice telling him the exact same thing. He's never forgotten it because its pretty much all she's ever told him about the man who fathered him. And at times he's resented her for that – for what seemed like a lie while she kept both the man and the truth a secret from him.

"Why just a night?" He asks his father now. "If you were both as in-love as you claim . . . why only a night?"

The wistfulness on Gabor's face instantly disappears, and an old resignation replaces it.

"Spies aren't supposed to fall in love Richard. Your mother was becoming well known . . . she had such a bright future ahead of her – and I had nothing more than that night to offer. Only by completely abandoning her could I protect her from what I was destined to become and the enemies I was destined to make. I had done enough damage – been selfish when I gave into my desire for her . . . selfish and wrong and yet when I look at you . . . and when I remember her . . . I find that while I am sorry . . . I cannot find it anywhere within me to regret it."

Gabor meets and holds his son's wary gaze.

"You don't need me to be, and I cannot take any credit for you . . . but I am so proud of you anyway." Gabor continues. "Your whole life I've watched you from afar my son. Silently and secretly watched you grow . . . enjoyed your successes and found myself so achingly proud of the person you've become. Martha raised a fine man – a good man."

"A man who wants to go home Gabor."

The spy sighs and shakes his head.

"I have done very little to help you in your life Richard – have truly served you best by staying away. So please trust that what you want – I want for you – but only when you are no longer in any danger can I let you go."

The writer pushes to his feet, paces away in frustration. And suddenly he recalls Kate's reaction to his efforts to protect her and he turns back to face his father, with her words falling from his lips.

"It's my life Gabor. Mine. You don't get to decide. You have no right to be treating me like I'm some sort of child – even if I am yours." He says indignantly.

"You are. And going up against the ones who would harm you - you are too."

Castle jaw clenches, a helpless anger rising inside him.

"And now we're back to that aren't we? Back to this threat you insist you're acting to protect me from – whether that protection is desired or not hmmm? So who wants me dead? Who? Tell me?"

There is a long moment of silence, and in the end the spy ends it by asking a question.

"Tell me something." Gabor replies. "What do you remember about a Mexican drug dealer named Cesar Valez?"

Cesar Valez?

The writer's face blanks, memories scrambling . . . and then it comes to him.

"Yeah I remember him." He confesses. "It was the case I so stupidly worked with . . . "

Gabor interrupts.

"Ethan Slaughter."