A/N: Urghhh this was the hardest chapter to write yet. Jeez. End of rant, but note the date code people (she hints with glee). Oh and Rida I promised you this would go up by the end of the day - and I just made it - at least here on the west coast anyway;)

Chapter Twenty Nine: And you'll see your hero come running.

Present day . . .

Sweat pours off of his brow as his fists connect over and over again with the soft, impact-resistant vinyl of the punching bag. He imagines the faces of Cesar Valez and Ethan Slaughter as he works the excess of aggression through, it gives him something to focus on – something to channel it to.

It helps.

His arms aching – Castle pauses, his chest heaving and his heart thumping an elevated rhythm as his hands tingle inside the relatively compact mix martial arts gloves. He's still feeling angry and vengeful – still feeling confined and desperately in need of movement, but he's probably pushed this enough for one day.

His mind has been on overdrive since the day a mere week ago that he and Gabor finally made it back inside the US. After all the drama of their water-borne narrow escape by seaplane, he'd just assumed at the time that they'd land somewhere civilized fairly close by and finally return home. He feels foolish for ever assuming that now - clearly he wasn't thinking that plan through.

Granted their flight had been relatively short. An hour or so, and Gabor had put the plane back down in Turkish waters, taxiing her to a standstill in the pretty harbour at Kusadasi. Considering the international aspect of their arrival Castle had been surprised that no immigration officials had bothered with them – in fact no one had bothered with them at all and just as well. They'd simply lashed the plane to the dock alongside the yachts of European millionaires' and vanished into the night, taking nothing from the plane with them beyond his novel and Gabor's gun.

Things got interesting after that.

Gabor has an apartment in the resort town, and he had travel documents and cash, clothes, everything he would need in order to leave Turkey behind him – but he had nothing in the way of documentation for Castle. Amid the high stakes scramble of their getaway there had been no time to grab all he had prepared for him and given the nature of their predicament, and not knowing who in the CIA might be working against them, it wasn't like his father could simply walk Castle into the American Embassy in Ankara and obtain them.

Getting home safely therefore, meant returning to the states unseen and unflagged and completely beneath anyone's radar. It was imperative that Castle could travel unnoticed and that basically meant 'illegally'.

Much to the writer's worry and chagrin they'd been stuck in Turkey a few days shy of three weeks. The time it took until Gabor could obtain - through some contacts on the fringes of his profession, a counterfeit Canadian passport in a fake name that would allow him to get Castle out of the country.

And it was still (to Castle's mind anyway) a tortuously circuitous route home for them once they had obtained it. Turkey gave way to Italy via a charter air flight, and then from Italy they traveled onto France by rail. Another train took them from France up to Denmark, and then they journeyed by ferry until they reached Sweden. From Sweden they risked a scheduled flight to Toronto, and when they made it into Canada without incident, finally they were within reach of the states and able to simply drive home.

Castle's assumed 'Canadian' identity had been ruthlessly drilled into him over and again by his father the entire way, among repeated assurances from the CIA vet that muddling their trail behind them the way they had, made them safer all the time. The end result of Gabor's constant drilling was an interesting experience for the writer to say the least. Castle almost felt now that he was this Edmonton born and raised son of school teachers. He'd even had multiple dreams about it – an entire faked background that it felt now as if he'd almost lived. It was more than a little weird, and although he'd written about cover identities for Derrick Storm he'd never truly appreciated before this just how immersed you could get - if you let yourself, if it was necessary.

They'd crossed over into the US seven days ago in the middle of the day, lost in a sea of tourists' and bargain-seeking shoppers heading south. Gabor had cited endless statistics the night before about how and when it was the most concealing for them to do it – Castle hadn't cared – he'd just wanted to be back home, wanted to feel that extra connection to his true self, needed to ground his life once more in that reality. And once they were finally safely back on US soil the closer they'd gotten to New York - the more wired and alive Castle had felt himself become.

Seven days of being cooped up in a cramped and sparse excuse for an apartment in Brooklyn later, and the life feels like its being sucked right out of him once again. A single room with a kitchenette, a bed and the sparring bag, an ancient tube TV with only basic cable and a tiny bathroom – barely three hundred square feet of space.

It's just another prison.

To be so close,and yet continue to remain apart from her; to follow his father's orders implicitly and suppress his innate desire to misbehave. It's the pure agony of his Greek island months all over again - but honed down to the finest point imaginable. It's a hypodermic needle straight to heart, his soul, his brain and he's numbed out, yet in pain, angry and sad and frustrated and . . .

See this was why he was punching the bag.

For four of the seven days Gabor had abandoned him, save for calling in to touch base at some point within every day. The communication would be brief and it felt more like he was checking up, reassuring himself that Castle hadn't done something stupid. When he thinks about it, the author realizes it's made things more than a little tense between them again, and it's definitely set their progressing relationship back a bit.

Castle knows it was necessary. Gabor had to play a role for Valez, had to pretend everything was normal to the CIA while at the same time digging covertly and trying to discover who tracked them down in Europe and attacked them. Searching for a lead in a minefield of trained spooks all of whom he has to treat with the scepticism of wondering if they're really playing for the other side.

Objectively he understands the enormous pressure his father is under to continue to fool Valez, fake out and delay the directives given to him by the CIA – find the traitor – finish this.

He gets it.

But it all still sits awkwardly on his freshly-minted and much more capable shoulders.

Because Kate's so close. She's really just moments away. And yet his arms are still devoid of her.

And there are just no words that could ever convey how much he hates it.

At least things are now moving. This is what Castle tells himself a thousand times a day, but it has been two full days now since Gabor began what he termed 'the end game' – delivering Castle's manuscript covertly to Black Pawn and leaving it very visibly on Gina Cowell's desk. Two endlessly long days of knowing that Kate has the answers sitting in her hands now while living with the knowledge that those answers he's handed to her may dangerously expose her. Praying that his warning is strong enough and hoping it isn't true that Valez has eyes of his own inside the precinct to see. And that's a faint hope at best.

Fifty something hours of excruciating anxiety. Wondering what she's read? How far has she gotten?Did he even leave enough breadcrumbs in his trail? Will she locate all the clues he so carefully crafted for her and the boys alone to unravel? Or did he make it to confusing to ever make sense?

This is the heaviest weight he's carrying – did he make it too hard?

But then he stops himself mid panic, reminds himself sternly - this is Detective Kate Beckett he's dealing with here.

This is Javier Esposito and Kevin Ryan.

This is Victoria Gates.

They'll see, they'll read, and they'll find.

He trusts in that – he does.

Because they know him as well as he knows them, and because more importantly this is what they do.

And despite the time, and the distance, and the disconnection they've been forced into, in the end – they're still a team.

Castle breathes deep. His heart rate has rapidly returned to normal and the sting has gone out of his hands. He stretches his arms high and then swings them experimentally, pleased to discover that the previous aching in his muscles has vanished and they aren't complaining – he forces his smile wide and tells himself to be content to feel ready for anything.

Anything then promptly decides to find him as Gabor comes literally hurtling through the apartment door.

"We've got a problem," he says, the lines around his mouth grim and bleak looking as he approaches his son.

Castle scans his father's now familiar face looking for the details before he asks for them, but the eyes that mirror his give nothing but a faint trace of anger and concern away.

"What is it?"

Gabor takes a breath, "Kate's taking her partners with her to scout the location of Slaughter's murder crime scene."

"The point is – you want to get inside a killer's head, go to where the killer was – and see what problems he had to face."

She remembered.

The writer raises an eyebrow.

"How is that a problem?" he asks, finding himself swallowing heavily because now his father is looking decidedly grim. "She has to find evidence enough to make her case against Valez – this is great – this means she's figured out the coded message within the book."

The older man sighs. "That part is great I'll grant you," he says gravely. "But Valez knows, Rick. He knows she's on to him."

Castle pales, "How? How the hell did he find out and how much does he know?"

"Enough." Gabor replies. "But not that you're alive thankfully and that's – that's at least something. Still he knows that Kate's investigating Slaughter's death as a murder. He found out earlier today and that means there's a leak within the precinct Richard, someone who is on this assholes payroll. He's also aware that Kate was tipped off that he was behind it, and that's why she's gunning for him now."

Oh God, Castle thinks - he sees where this is going, understands the implication of what this means.

"He won't wait any longer will he?" he states, knowing its not a question. "Not even to see her suffer."

Gabor shakes his head. "No, he's going after her. He has to, he can't afford the risk."

The writer narrows his eyes, dread sinking heavily in his gut. All their plans have hinged on Kate's investigation going unnoticed by the drug lord until she had enough to arrest him. This changes everything.

Castle's voice is shaky when he speaks.

"Is there any indication from your sources-" he begins, before his voice cracks. The writer clears his throat and tries again. "I mean, do we know – when?"

His father nods and Castle is torn between relief and despair.

"Today." Gabor's reply is graven.

Wow, okay. Castle unstraps the protective gloves from his hands, bunching them into fists, he pulls the sweaty t-shirt he's sporting over his head and wipes the perspiration from his naked chest with it.

"Have you uncovered the CIA mole?" he asks suddenly.

The operative shakes his head. "No, not yet. I'm sorry."

His son nods thoughtfully.

"Have you gotten enough cartel info out of Gabor already to call your op a success and withdraw his federal protection?"

There's another shake of the spy's head.

"He's holding out on me – it was expected. There are several key players he's yet to give up."

Castle pins his father with a direct gaze.

"Have you informed the Agency officially that you suspect Kate's now in direct danger from Valez? And if you have what have they asked you to do?"

The other man takes a beat too long to answer him.

"I've advised them," he says.

"And?" Castle prompts.

"And nothing," Gabor says gently – the apology in his eyes. "My directive from the Agency is that she's on her own."

Castle shakes his head, eyes wide in disbelief.

"To them, Rick," Gabor hastens to add. "Not to me. The mission can be damned – like I'm not gonna have her back in this," he says adamantly.

The writer steps right into his father, as if he's daring the man.

"We," he utters darkly. "We have her back in this."

His father looks stony.

"You have to stay here. You have to let me handle this."

"I wasn't asking for your permission. I was just telling you how it is."

"Richard-"

"I'm going with you."

"Rick – please . . . "

"I'm going with you." Castle insists again. "The subject is closed."