A/N: Forgive me, forgive me if I didn't manage to PM you a response to your review if you kindly left me one – and please still continue to leave me them – as they honestly make my day.
Chapter Seventeen: Now it seems I'm awake in this dream.
Two months and three weeks ago . . .
His arms are trembling with the strain and the sweat is pouring off of him, but Castle forces his tired body to complete yet another push-up, and only when that mission has been accomplished does the novelist finally give into the burning in his arms, flopping face first onto the sand – which he then promptly gets a mouthful of.
Laughing to himself for not keeping it closed, he rolls over and relaxes on his back instead. Staring up at the cloudless Grecian sky above him, he focuses solely on his breathing – on the sensation of his heart slowing steadily back to a normal rhythm in the aftermath of his workout.
A solid month of pushing himself daily has the writer's body in better shape than he's been in for years, and Castle has to admit – it feels really damn good. Even his brain feels sharper and more focused, and the hours he's spent writing, almost completing in fact the initial draft of his novel, have gone by easier than ever before as a result.
It's also helped enormously with his sense of isolation and the oftentimes crippling pain that comes along with missing Kate – so he's driven himself hard – every day, constantly focused on keeping busy and almost never permitting himself the time or the luxury of nothing to do.
He's about to get up off the sand and head back to the villa for a shower when a shadow falls ominously across his face – blocking out the warmth of the sun. The writer squints, his eyes adjusting quickly, and panic recedes as he recognizes that it's his father standing over him. In fact he's relieved by the sight as normal – because this time he hasn't seen the CIA agent in over three weeks.
Sitting up quickly the smile of welcome on the writer's face pales to concern as his eyes travel over his father's form and take note of both the slightly grey tinge to the older man's complexion and the black sling that is immobilizing the spy's left arm.
"Gabor," he says fearfully. "What's happened?"
The other man remains momentarily silent, choosing instead to seat himself gingerly next to his son on the warm sand. Once he's settled however, he looks over at Castle and attempts to sound reassuring.
"I'll get to that," he says gently. "Tell me Richard – how have you been?"
Castle frowns.
"I'm fine," he says tersely. "So for the love of God don't beat around the bush. You clearly are not fine – and as I seriously don't want to be stuck in this place forever, naturally that concerns me. So just tell me – please – what the hell happened to you?"
Gabor sighs and turns his gaze from Castle to the ocean.
"I was shot," he says simply.
The agent hears the rapid and frightened inhale of his son next to him, followed by a string of expletives that actually serve to make Gabor huff out a small laugh.
"Richard?" he says.
Castle's mouth has firmed into a thin line. "What?"
"It's not the first time," he explains. "And I'm pretty doubtful that it'll be the last."
The novelist's frown deepens, bright eyes flashing.
"Yeah? Well that isn't exactly reassuring."
The agent shrugs, but a wince of pain flashes sharply across his features before he manages to once more school his expression.
From that wince however, his son deduces that it's most likely that the gunshot was to the shoulder. So he reaches out tentatively and grasps hold of Gabor by his uninjured elbow.
"Seriously," he says softly, "unless this is something that's classified – I'd really like to know what went on."
Gabor studies his son's earnest features, notes the genuine concern for his well-being that's hovering in those oh-so-blue eyes – and it warms him. How very real that distress is. His son is worried – about him, and it's been so many years since anyone worried about him that it startles him now, how great it feels. Most especially because it's coming from one of the only two people left on earth that the spy loves. Not that he's ever dreamed of having his son love him in return – he doesn't dare dream about it even now. But his son does care – and that's . . . everything.
So the spy smiles.
"I wasn't planning on hiding any of it from you Rick," he says, using the shortened form of his son's name for the first time. "In fact we have a lot to talk about you and I. And some plans to make in fact. There have been some disturbing developments and I've come to the conclusion that I'm going to have to call upon you for your help."
Surprised, Castle nods. "Whatever I can do," he replies.
Gabor nods once and then pushes himself slowly to his feet, his customary cat-like grace somewhat lacking. Beside him, the novelist jumps up also, and then both men head towards the villa as they make their way up the sand.
Showered and starving Castle heads through the now familiar hallways of the CIA lair and down the stairs from the upper floor – he joins his father in the kitchen.
He has to hide a smirk when he finds Dianthe – the Greek housekeeper – fussing over Gabor like a mother-hen and kicking him away from the stove so she can cook for them.
Effectively banished – Gabor greets Castle with an eye-roll, and the two men do as they have apparently been bid and wait for their food at the table outside.
"So . . ." Castle begins, dropping down onto the stone wall of the patio and popping an olive from the table into his mouth, he looks over at his father inquisitively.
"So . . ." Gabor echoes. "I think we have a thorny problem," he begins.
Unable to help itself, Castle's stomach lurches. "Kate . . ."
"Is fine," his father replies. But then his mouth twists into an apology and he says, "For now."
"Uh oh – I don't think I like the sound of this at all . . ."
The CIA agent holds his hand up to forestall the writer in his tracks.
"She's fine Richard. But we both know that Valez is eventually going to tire of watching her suffer without you, and once that occurs he still plans on erasing her. And in the meantime I have a bad feeling about the entirety of the CIA op. I was shot while meeting with Valez in Mexico. It was a scheduled check-in with him – and I know damn well it was another agent who tried to take me out."
The novelist looks stunned.
"Wait, one of your own people tried to kill you?" He asks.
His father nods.
"I'm sure of it. No-one else outside of Valez and the agency even knew I was there. And while they staged it to make it look like an attack on Valez' compound, the shots were too wild and not a single other person was hit. I know an agency instruction when I see one – even though I suspect this was someone rogue - unsanctioned."
"I don't follow."
"I have enemies Richard, and the CIA is a twisted web of opportunists. No-one knows everything that is going on – and for good reason on the whole. But something isn't right with this. Originally I was just supposed to liaise with Valez until we got him to turn over the names of the major Mexican cartel players. In return for his cohorts – Valez gets a free pass, but he also knows that once he's handed over that information, there is no guarantee the CIA will continue to let him operate. And if I wasn't his liaison – whichever agent replaced me would be in position to make huge sums of money by delaying things indefinitely. They could effectively control not only Valez but a huge portion of his business by helping him string this out."
Castle nods.
"So you think someone – within the CIA is effectively after your assignment? " He asks.
"For starters – yes," the agent replies.
"And how does this knock-on to affect me?"
"You need this op completed the same as I do Richard. You can't return until Cesar Valez is no longer a threat to you or to Kate and I haven't been able to take him out until the agency's mission has been realized. Any delay now hastens the likelihood that Valez takes his revenge on Kate before we're finished with him."
The novelist immediately grasps the problem.
"And he kills her," he whispers. "You cannot allow that to happen!" He begs.
The spy stands. "I don't intend too." He heads into the kitchen and when he returns he's holding the current draft of Castle's novel in his hands.
"I took the liberty of grabbing this from your room while you were in the shower," he confesses, placing the unfinished manuscript on the table between them.
"I flicked through it," he says with a soft smile. "Forgive me . . . it's good."
Castle shrugs.
"We need to use it Rick," his father tells him – sitting back down.
"Use it . . . for what? And how?"
Gabor smiles. "To take Valez out of the equation another way," he answers. "I don't care any longer about what the agency wants from this bastard. And I don't care about the completion of my mission. What I care about is you. And I've been trying to balance my life, my job - with protecting you and watching it crush you – you and Kate – in the process, and I can't do that any longer. Not when I don't completely trust what the agency is doing here and when there's the possibility that I might be taken out. Who gives your life back to you both then?" He says passionately.
Castle nods.
"Good point," he replies. "So what do you intend to do?" He asks.
The spy looks down at the novel and brushes his fingers reverently over the pages, and there is no mistaking the pride evident in features as he gazes down at his son's work.
"Give Kate the ammunition she needs to remove the threat posed by Cesar Valez herself," he says.
"Okay – great. But how?" Castle says questioningly.
"If she could arrest him – have him prosecuted for the murder of Detective Slaughter – he would effectively become useless to the CIA. And more importantly – no longer a threat to either of you," Gabor tells him.
"Okay, I can see that," Castle replies. "But what does this have to do with my book?"
"Absolutely everything my son. Valez is watching her. The FBI are watching her – hell I suspect I'm not the only member of the CIA watching her now, and there is no-one we can trust. Everything has to be considered suspect, so whatever we need to tell her it has to be completely safely coded and given to her in a manner that even if it falls into the wrong hands becomes useless - because it's in a form that only she can break."
Castle smiles.
"And that's where the book comes in," he says.
Gabor nods.
"Exactly. Everything we need her to know has to be hidden within the story – disguised within the pages – unbreakable and unreadable to any but her."
The writer looks thoughtful.
"Not just her," he responds. "But just Kate and her team. We're a unit – we function better together and I know I can trust them."
Gabor bites his lip. "This is your life," he says hesitantly. "Yours and Kate's."
"She'll involve them anyway, and Esposito and Ryan . . . they're unassailable."
The spy smiles.
"Alright. Now the question is to you Rick . . . can you do it? Can you take the information I can provide you with and weave it into what you've already written here?" Gabor asks.
At this, Castle's smile becomes truly huge.
"Oh hell yeah," he says. "Just you watch me."