A/N: Thanks for all the feedback you guys have been giving me. My husband teases me because every time there is a new comment I look up from the computer and squeal. Seriously, it's one of the highlights of my day. Not sure if that means your comments are totally awesome (yes!) or my days are incredibly boring. (Both?)

Daniel Henry's eyes pointed toward the ceiling of his back-room office, the overhead lights infusing a lively twinkle not fitting for a man who had died less than an hour ago. Beckett crouched down next to him, gloved hands delicately brushing over his face to close his eyelids—an act done with equal parts respect for the dead and aversion for the man himself. Just outside the room she could hear Davis engaged in a heated discussion, his booming voice cutting off every so often, the ensuing silence only broken by a string of deferential 'yes sirs' and 'no sirs.' She almost smiled, imagining the verbal reprimand he was receiving.

Davis walked back in the room and addressed the detectives, "Chief is calling me back to the precinct. No drugs, no case." He looked longingly at the empty locker, like if by sheer desire he could will the cocaine to appear.

"So where does that leave us?" asked Beckett, hoping that the answer was off her team.

"We aren't closing the case, but given that our person of interest is no longer a viable suspect—or at least not a prosecutable one—we're backing off for now. I'll be in touch if anything comes up that's relevant to your investigation." He turned and walked out, his hands scrunched into white-knuckled fists and shoved into pockets instead of extended for a formal goodbye.

"Fine by me," said Esposito. "Guy was kind of a punk anyway."

"Javi, you gotta let it go," Ryan said, patting his partner on the shoulder.

"Dude, I let it go." Esposito pushed his hand away.

"Mm-hmm, okay." Ryan cast a skeptical look toward Castle hoping to elicit his opinion, but Castle just shrugged, swimming past the bait.

"Okay guys, let's focus," Beckett urged as the current of forensic analysts swirled around them, collecting and cataloging evidence. "Espo?"

"I talked with the booth of club patrons and staff, no one heard anything pre-gunshot—no voices, no doors opening," he pointed to the back door, now closed. Forensics had already bagged the wooden wedge that had been propping it open. "Daniel usually comes into the club every Saturday afternoon, takes to his office back here so nothing out of the ordinary there."

"But that does means whoever came back here likely knew his schedule—knew that he would be here," Castle added. Beckett felt a swell of parental-like pride for how adept Castle had become at drawing inferences.

"Ryan, anything?" Beckett asked, turning her attention.

"No one in the vicinity heard or saw anything. We are pulling security footage from the cameras within a few blocks radius, but I'm guessing like with Caitlyn's case, we aren't going to find anything since they offer a poor vantage of the sidewalk."

"What I don't understand is why he doesn't have a camera fixed on this room," Castle said, eyeing the ceiling . "You'd think he want to keep an eye on whatever he keeps back here."

Beckett rubbed her temple, trying to release the tension headache that was building. Almost forty-eight hours into this case and all she had to show for it was another dead body. She watched the paramedics slide a black, zippered bag underneath Daniel's body in preparation for his ride to the morgue. If she watched closely enough, she could swear she saw his lips parting in Morse-code like patterns, trying to communicate from beyond. His final words—Tell her I didn't know; I wouldn't have left—ran through her mind.

Sensing the gloom that was settling into the room, Lanie piped up from her spot next to the body, "Let me get him back to the morgue, pull this slug out. Maybe it will be a match for something we have in the system."

"And then there's Mr. Snyder," Castle said, attempting to damn up the river of guilt Beckett was floating down with another potential lead. "Chances are since we spotted him in the back alley shortly after the gunshot, he spotted someone leaving the club." Castle watched Beckett bite her lower lip, thought lines creasing her forehead. He wasn't used to seeing her this demoralized, but then, she wasn't used to witnessing people die in her arms. Everyone had their breaking point. "Why don't we swing past the loft and get you a change of clothes before talking to him though."

Beckett straightened up, resolve washing over her features. "Can you guys hold down the fort for half an hour?" She looked to Ryan and Esposito.

"Can we hold down the fort?" Esposito mocked, his hand gripping his chest as if the question was a great affront. "More like can you manage to change your clothes in thirty minutes with Mr. Primp and Preen on your heels?"

Beckett's smile was limp, but she forced the grin, grateful for Esposito's effort. She let Castle collect her coat from the front of the bar, mentally adding a trip to the dry cleaners to her to-do list and wondering if they offered a frequency card for removal of blood stains—she'd definitely be nearing a free cleaning by now.

The entire drive to the loft was a mental game of chess—moves and countermoves between her rational side, the side that didn't blame herself for Daniel's death, and the nagging guilt that told her if only she were smarter, more perceptive, quicker to act, she would have been able to stop it. She breathed deeply, but even with lungs full of air she felt like she was drowning, like her chest was collapsing in on itself, pressing her heart into her ribcage.

She pulled into her parking spot and slumped over the wheel, only slightly cognizant of Castle opening her door and extending an arm for her to latch onto. She anchored her arm around his—solid and grounded—and tried to submerge her guilt in the deep recesses of her mind, but the harder she tried to keep afloat, the more she found herself gasping for air, a sea of red blood washing over her vision.

"How are you holding up?" Castle asked, equally concerned and confused by the open display of raw emotions.

Beckett sighed. "Can I be honest?" Although she already knew the answer to this question.

"Of course." Castle unhooked their arms and pulled her flush with his body, walking hip to hip toward the elevator, his arm wrapped around her shoulder. He could feel a slight falter in Kate's normally strong, purposeful stride.

"When I was crouched over Daniel, pressing that jacket to his side, watching the blood pool around his body," she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back the gruesome image, "I felt so…powerless." She looked over at Castle and was met with his attentive, loving gaze. "Part of the reason I love what I do is because it gives me back a sense of control I lost years ago—back when my mom died. Things like this remind me how tenuous—maybe even illusory—that control is."

"And here I thought you just really came to like the guy." Castle winced at his own joke. This wasn't the direction he wanted the conversation to go. Stepping into the elevator, he leaned against the back wall, pulling Kate toward him, her head cradled on his shoulder. He ran his fingers through her hair, catching them on the end of a strand matted with dried blood. How it got there, he didn't know.

"Castle," she began, his name laced with resignation. It was a tone he wasn't accustomed to hearing. "What if what I do is never enough?"

"Enough for what?" He pulled her closer, cocooning her within his arms.

Kate's mind was reeling, but she held tight to the familiar scent of Castle's cologne and the feel of his soft jacket against her cheek. She didn't even know what she meant by that statement; how could she possibly explain it to Castle? Enough to feel like what she did mattered? Enough to keep the panic and fear at bay? Enough to right the wrong that had been done to her family—to fight the injustice of it all? To silence the small voice that whispered all her struggles had been in vain? That was a tall order—an unreasonable expectation if she was being honest with herself. Castle's voice, focused and firm, cut through her thoughts.

"Kate, you are enough. You. All by yourself. In fact you're more than enough." The thought that Kate felt inadequate on some level made his throat tighten, emotions welling up in his chest, trying to escape. He forced back a sob, knowing it was his turn to be the strong one. "And that control you're so desperately afraid to lose—well if it weren't for you—for us—surrendering our need for certainty there wouldn't be an us. Think about it, how many times did we let an opportunity to be together pass us by because we were waiting for a hundred different variables to fall into place. Because we were looking for a sense of control over an outcome that we were never going to find."

He cupped her cheek in his hand, thumbing away a solitary tear. He wanted—no, he needed, to see his words register. He needed to know she understood. Castle continued, "Some of the greatest things in life happen when you let go. Is it scary? Yes. Does it sometimes implode? Sure. But when it does work, it's nothing short of—"

"Amazing." Beckett finished his sentence, resting her hand over his. "I believe a wise man once said that sometimes we don't have all the answers. That we have to learn to live with the questions." She smiled, remembering the day he told her that, and a warm glow radiated across her body

"And who is this wise man you speak of? Anyone I might know?"

Beckett dropped her hands to his hips, her fingers grazing over the rim of his pants, tugging him toward her. "Nah," she teased, her lips inches from his as her body pulsated with desire, with an overwhelming drive to not only tell him how much she loved him, but to also show him. The outline of her vision blurred, tunneling her focus on Castle's body and the hundreds of places she wanted to touch, to kiss, to work into a frenzy until he knew as well as her just how much he meant to her.

Castle watched Kate's eyes dance with fire, shooting out burning embers across his skin wherever they landed. The elevator pinged and he wasted no time in pushing her out the door, their feet shuffling in unison down the hall as he pressed his mouth over hers. She fumbled inside his pockets for the keys to the loft, the pressure of her hand against his thigh sending an electric current through his spine and up his neck only intensifying the kiss.

They stumbled into the loft, and Kate pulled his jacket down, flinging it across the floor, not caring where it landed. She grazed her hands over his shirt, eager fingers tracing the contour of his biceps as they pressed against the shirt material. She shrugged her own jacket off, her shoes following close behind, and led him toward the bathroom, her tongue now running circles around his bottom lip between jagged breathes.

By the time they reached the bathroom Castle's head was spinning, caught up in an intoxicating whirlwind of her scent, her touch, and his own need for her. He gently pulled away and leaned his forehead against hers, attempting to slow his breathing, to turn his focus from his own needs to hers.

"Rick," she breathed against his cheek, hot and desperate, her lips grazing the rough stubble. Her face wash flushed and he swore he could see her heart beating rhythmically against her chest in time with his own breathing.

"How does a shower sound?" he asked remembering the original purpose for a trip to the loft. He reached into the shower and cranked the knobs until a thick cloud of steam billowed up from the floor.

"A shower sounds great." Her eyes scanned the length of his body, a twisted, mischievous smile spreading across her face. "But I can think of something that sounds even better."

"Well I've always been the master at multitasking." Castle pulled his shirt off and playfully tossed it toward her.

"Is that so?" She slipped her own shirt off, adding it to the pile of discarded clothes, and then slowly—painfully slow as far as Castle was concerned—reached around to unclasp her bra, letting it fall to her feet. "So Mr. Multitasker," she reached out, grabbed Castle's hand, and pressed it against her chest, smiling as he sharply inhaled, "what's five times eight?"

"I…uh.." He tried to process what she just asked but couldn't think with the feel of her breast beneath his palm—mesmerized by the beads of sweat forming on its upper curve as the shower steam rose up around them.

Kate held back a giggle, using all her will power to resist hurtling herself over the same spellbound cliff that Castle was dangling from. "How about the capitol of Ohio?"

"What?"

"The third planet from the sun?"

"It's…you…"

"Today's date?"

"God, Kate you're beautiful," he said finding his voice.

"I think it's actually the fifth, but since you're beautiful is an acceptable answer to any question I'll let it slide." She laughed without reserve, the sound echoing off the tiled walls, infusing a lightness into her features.

Castle thought it had to be one of the best things he'd heard all day.

"One last question," she said, shimmying out of her own pants before reaching toward Castle's belt. "What do you plan to do with me once we get in the shower?"

Castle arched his eyebrows, his lips mirroring her playful grin. He loved that even on days when their world felt like it was falling apart, a thousand jigsaw pieces blowing in the wind, nothing could put them back together again faster than just being together. Somehow, they would always be able to find beauty in the pain. "How about I just show you?" Castle replied. "But you're going to have to let go of some of that control you so desperately want to cling to." And there it was—the issue that brought them to this tipping point to begin with. "What do you say?"

Kate looked up into his eyes feeling a swell of love and trust, reveling in the fact that this messy, unpredictable, but oh-so-amazing life was hers. She reached out and lifted his hand, kissing each finger before laying it across the quarter-sized scar on her chest. "I think I can handle that."

Esposito held up his wrist as Castle and Beckett walked into the precinct. "Hey Ryan," he shouted to his partner who was studiously bent over at his desk. "What time did we get back to the precinct?"

"I don't know. Five-thirty maybe?" He glanced up briefly, nodding his head in acknowledgement of Beckett's arrival and then went back to scanning documents.

"I'll tell you what time it was," Esposito continued. The sarcasm creeping into his voice made it sound like he was headlining a comedy hour. "Five-twenty-one on the dot." He tapped the face of his watch. "And what time do you suppose it is right now? Beckett? Castle?" His gaze shifted between the two of them—desperate for someone to play along.

Castle humored him and looked down at his watch. "Looks like it's just shy of six-thirty."

"Now I'm not a math wiz but—"

"Neither am I apparently…at least under the right circumstance," Castle said, interrupting Esposito and eliciting a laugh from Beckett. She drew her hand to her mouth forcing the giggle back down, mortified because she was sure Esposito could see the dirty images running through her mind at that moment.

Esposito eyed them suspiciously before going on. "One hour and three…no make that four minutes. That's how long it took you to change your clothes."

"Yea, so?" Beckett remained nonchalant, not giving up any information, knowing it was driving him crazy. She fought back another giggle, enjoying the perplexed look on Esposito's face.

"You didn't have to shop for the outfit before you put it on, did you?"

Ryan piped up, "Javi, what did we say about you needing to let things go?" He swiveled around in his chair, legs crossed, hands propped under his chin. He looked like he was ready to psychoanalyze Esposito—maybe ask him to lie down a couch, talk about his dreams.

"Dude-I-let-it-go." He punctuated each word.

Castle, Beckett, and Ryan shared a glance and then said in unison, "Mm—hmm."

Esposito humphed, and pointed toward interrogation. "Your guy, Malcolm Snyder, is waiting in interrogation room two. We already looked into his alibi though—it checks out."

Beckett and Castle shared a silent sigh of relief, glad not to have to explain to anyone how a quick five minute shower turned into a thirty-five minute shower—although gymnast-like flexibility and cherry-scented shower gel came to mind. So long as no one stared too intently at their hands—wrinkled like prunes from too much time in the hot water—their secret was safe.

Castle and Beckett strode into the interrogation room, manila file in hand, and found Mr. Snyder pacing along the far wall.

"Trying to work in some extra exercise?" Castle asked. "You know, since we cut your run short earlier." Mr. Snyder didn't appear amused.

"Take a seat please, Mr. Snyder." Beckett motioned toward the chair and he obliged.

"Listen, I'll tell you the same thing I told the other cop. I was just makin' a delivery to the back door of the law office down there. You can call the company I work for; they'll confirm that."

Beckett didn't tell him that his alibi had already been confirmed. She wanted to see how cooperative and forthcoming he would be if he thought his neck was on the line. She opened the file folder on the table and leafed through the papers inside. Mr. Snyder fidgeted nervously in his chair, his eyes skirting around the room, trying to look anywhere but at the file.

"Looks here like you have quite the record—couple B and Es, an assault charge, and most recently you were busted for shoplifting two hundred dollars worth of…high end nail polish." Beckett squinted her eyes at the page. Had she read that correctly?

"Pink is definitely your color." Castle couldn't resist.

"I can explain that last one, you see—"

"Mr. Snyder." Beckett cut him off, not interested in hearing a tall tale. Castle, on the other hand, leaned forward, listening with rapt attention. "Do you remember seeing anyone else while you were making your delivery?"

"You mean on the way to makin'. Documents I was supposed to deliver are still sittin' in my bag the lady cop took when she brought me in."

"Focus, Mr. Snyder."

Mr. Snyder hunched over, elbows on knees, his hands pressing at his temples. "Yea, you know, there was someone else. Some lady came bolting down the alley just as I was locking my bike up."

"Can you describe her?" asked Castle.

"Amazing feet."

"Wait…what?"

"Lady had on these strappy little black pumps, size seven…seven and a half, maybe, two inch heels, three including the platform, zipper up the back, nice pointed toe. I think they were real leather. Super sophisticated-like."

Beckett glanced over at Castle and was met with the same amused look she was sporting.

"What? I have a thing for feet."

"Can you remember what any part of her looked like above her ankles? Beckett asked, the question ridden with doubt. When he couldn't, Beckett pulled out the DMV photos of Samantha and Jennifer. Again, she was met with a vacant stare. Realizing she wasn't going to get any more information from Mr. Snyder, foot fashion aside, she released him and reconvened back in front of the murder board with the rest of her team.

"So I've got some good news," Ryan began, picking up a sharpie. "The shoe prints in the alley where Caitlyn was murdered are a match for the prints found in the alleyway outside the club."

"So we know we're likely only dealing with one killer," Castle added.

"And" said Esposito, "CSU did find trace amounts of cocaine in the backroom locker. Detective Davis' intel might not have been that far off, although where the drugs are now we have no clue."

Beckett pulled back out her mental chess board—this time facing off against an unknown murderer instead of her own conscience. She watched the game unfold, move by move, starting with Caitlyn's murder and ending with Daniel shot dead in his office. She arranged and rearranged all the key pieces, watching the ripple effect each move had on the overall configuration of the board. A shrill beeping sound cut through her thoughts.

Castle pulled his phone out of his pocket and pushed the silence button ending the noise. "Oh crap," he said, looking down at the phone.

"What?" Beckett asked.

Castle stammered, trying to find the right words that would go over well with Beckett.

"Out with it, Castle," she urged.

"Remember how my mom wanted us to meet with that wedding planner?

"Yea." She didn't know what he was about to say, but the way he was nervously rocking back and forth was putting her on edge.

"Well I called her this morning while you were in the bathroom. Thought I'd get the ball rolling and see when she had time to meet. Turns out the only time she really had available over the next few weeks was…tonight. I thought we would have wrapped this up by now, you know, with how fast you normally solve a case…because you're super smart…and perceptive…and hardworking…and…you can let me know when it's okay to stop."

Even without the deluge of compliments Beckett wouldn't have been able to stay mad at him for longer than a second. But that didn't mean she would be able to drop everything mid-case either.

"You know," Ryan said, stepping in between the two, "assuming an hour long meeting is really only an hour," Esposito donned a self-satisfied grin off to the side, "you should go. We've got a list of things to look into—financials, phone records, alibis for a dozen or so other people—not to mention Gates is a bit preoccupied with the media spin for Daniel's death and probably won't even notice you're gone."

Beckett considered the proposition. She felt guilty leaving Ryan and Esposito to do all the grunt work while she talked cake flavors over a steaming cup of coffee. But she'd be lying to herself if she didn't admit that she could get over that guilt a lot faster than the guilt she would feel over sending Castle for a one-on-one meeting to discuss details about their wedding.

"Fine," she finally said, "but only because I don't trust Castle to not convince the wedding planner that a Star Wars wedding theme is a great idea."

"Hey," Castle exclaimed, the boyish twinkle back in his eyes, "I hadn't thought of that, but it is a great idea." They put on their coats and headed toward the elevator. "Picture it, Beckett. Stormtroopers for best men. Darth Vader as minister. We could dress the ring bearer as an Ewok." A noise sounding awfully close to a squeal came out of Castle's mouth. "We enter the reception through a tunnel of light sabers. A cake that looks like the Death Star…"

Castle's voice trailed off as the elevator doors closed, leaving Esposito and Ryan sharing a bewildered look.

"Yea man, not renting a Stormtrooper costume," Esposito said.

"Nope, not happening, but you could totally pull it off," Ryan said.

"You think?"

"Sure. Stormtroopers are those hairy, ape-looking creatures right?" Ryan kept a dead pan expression for as long as he could before cracking a cheek-to-cheek grin.

"Dude, not funny. Let's hope you can crack this case better than you can tell a joke."

"Shouldn't it be let's hope you can crack this case better than you can take a joke."

Without another witty comeback in his back pocket, Esposito trudged off toward his desk—a quick peak at his watch letting him know how long Beckett and Castle had to return before he would start suspecting their meeting with the wedding planner had turned into a round two meeting in bed. Clearly, he thought, they were as coy as he was oblivious.

I know in the real Castle universe it would be unheard of for Beckett to engage in such a frivolous meeting mid-case, but thankfully this is not the real Castle universe-it's mine-and thus I can have as much frivolous Caskett fluff as I wish.

Please let me know what you think! Does this border on too much M-rated content? Not enough? I have to admit that writing anything remotely sexual is hard for me (I swear I am more of a red-faced teenager at heart instead of a 29-year-old married woman) so I would love your input.