Won't Let You Go

by badge-and-pen

Beckett and Castle awaken into a new world of possibilities following 'Always,' but when a reporter starts to chronicle their lives in cruel detail, one of them finds themselves as the prime suspect for murder.

2. City of Black and White

A/N: Title and lyrics are from City of Black and White by Mat Kearney.

-{ Chapter 2: City of Black and White }-

Cause I don't want to wait until tomorrow
To tell you how I feel the rest of my life
You don't want to waste another minute when you realize
Walking on the dark side of the evening
Maybe it was you who opened my eyes
Burning like a fire on the water
The city of black and white
Won't you just stay
Won't you just stay
I'm on the top still looking down
And coming up to me is where the whole world wants to be found
Golden rings and coffee brown
There's a white flag waving where my heart is on the ground

May 17th, 2012

Alexis Castle had seen her father in a great number of relationships growing up. She had gotten used to ignoring the overnight visitors when she got to an age where she understood the reasoning behind the sleepover. For a time, when she had been younger, she had rather hated the whole thing. As any child would, she craved the simplicity of a two parents household, where she could expect the same two people to be at the breakfast table every morning.

Now, she understood the divorce. She understood how much better they all were when her mother stayed in California and sent birthday cards and had monthly Skype conversations with her about boys and classes and shoe sales.

They were all safer when her mother wasn't on the verge of dropping into her principal's office every day with news of another imaginary dead relative.

Through all of the relationships she had watched her father transition through, though, none of them had been quite like the one he had forged with Detective Beckett.

Alexis was still torn on the subject.

It seemed as if, since meeting Beckett, all of his attention had been diverted to solving cases and playing the cop that he was not. Writing murder mysteries was one thing. It was safe. He stayed locked up for days in his study sometimes, fingers flying across the keyboard as he ground out the grisly details, occasionally making an appearance only as a scavenger, bearded like a straggly homeless man and wearing a mismatched outfit, hunting down a box of crackers or a peanut butter sandwich before vanishing once more into his cave.

That was the situation she was familiar with.

Other times, he would sit out in the living room, tapping, frowning, tapping some more, and then holding down the backspace key. In the months before Beckett had approached them at that book signing, he had been trapped in a pit of writer's block, wavering on the line between frustrated and gleefully disobedient as he dodged calls from his publisher and indulged in extended games of laser tag after foregoing all attempts at progress.

That, too, she had learned to accept as normality in the Castle loft.

When Beckett had been introduced into their lives, though, everything had shifted. Gone off-balance. There were no more strange women, and the writer's block had not reared its head. For the first time in her life, Alexis came home more often than not to an empty home when school let out. Her father was off at the precinct or running around after Beckett, and at first the alone time seemed like a welcome change. She took to studying in the open spaces of the loft instead of holed up in her bedroom, and found a favorite spot in the corner of the couch.

Eventually, the small luxuries paled in comparison to the other changes, though.

Namely, with the shooting.

Alexis had never seen a dead body until she had begun working with Dr. Parish this past year. Her first had very nearly been Beckett.

She had never heard a gunshot coming from anything other than the television. Not a real gunshot, anyways. There had been parades and track meets… but none of that even registered on the scale. Not in comparison to the sound that cut so sharply through the cemetery.

For years, she had worried about him chasing after criminals. He would come home with stories about shoot-outs and life-saving antics, and she would listen in silence while Gram greeted his tales with a 'my goodness, Richard!' and a disapproving head shake.

Somehow, though, she had never reached the depths of real fear until after that evening. From that moment forward, she had felt like every day might change her life. Might spell the end of her father. Not only if he found himself on the wrong end of one of those bullets, but also if Beckett wound up in the line of fire once again.

Where once she had seen a brave woman to look up to, a steady, grounding figure in her father's life, now she could not help but see someone selfish.

Beckett pulled her father into danger. Where he might decide to go running into trouble, she did not stop him.

He had told her, when she had asked, that Beckett made him happy. She had only been partially satisfied with that answer. She was always glad to see a smile on her father's face. At what cost did that smile come, though? How many times in the past few months had he risked his life to save hers?

And he would keep on doing it, too, because she wasn't going to stop him.

Alexis wasn't stupid. Her father was head-over-heels in love with Beckett. He looked at her in a way he had never looked at any other woman he had been with, as far as Alexis remembered. He treated her like the most important thing in the world.

She would deny it if anyone asked, but to herself Alexis had to acknowledge at least a smidge of jealousy.

That was not why she found herself concerned with her father's choice of relationship, though.

The main reason she worried was because her father had driven himself into the ground for three months trying to catch her shooter and then had spent the rest of the year in a tug-of-war, love-hate relationship with her. The more she heard, the more Gram discussed with her over their lonely breakfasts, the more she became sure that Beckett was no longer a positive influence in his life. He was going to break because she wouldn't return his feelings.

When she and Gram had run into the pair of them at brunch she had known, just as Gram had, that it was no work outing. Despite Gram's outward enthusiasm, Alexis could see the concern in her eyes the moment they turned for the exit and left her father and Beckett to their meals. They were both worried.

Now, she sat at the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal, the front page of the morning paper clutched in her left hand as she tapped her spoon restlessly against the ceramic, milk swirling. The title printed just below the main headline read 'Author Richard Castle finally settling down?' over an image of him and Beckett at a charity event from the night before. She scanned through the first lines of the article, which alluded to the couple's recently close behavior, highlighting a number of other events they had attended together in the past week.

Alexis sighed, folding the paper and letting it slap back onto the counter. She watched as her frosted flakes spun around in the mini whirlpool, and let her spoon still, her head propped up in her free hand.

"Good morning!" crowed Gram, making her grand entrance, floral nightgown streaming gracefully behind her, hands raised over her head.

"'Morning," Alexis echoed with far less enthusiasm.

Gram scanned the paper as she rounded the counter on her way to the refrigerator.

"Looks like your father made quite an entrance at that Leukemia Benefit last night."

"Yeah," she said distractedly, deciding her cereal was too soggy to consider eating. She let the spoon drop. Maybe she could just spend the afternoon working on her college list, so that they could start some organized shopping soon. But, it was more likely she would focus on her new project.

"Is everything all right, dear?" Gram asked, breezing around the kitchen as she prepared some sort of egg dish for herself.

"Tired," Alexis said. It was only a half-lie. She hadn't gotten much sleep last night, having spent most of it at her computer doing research.

Beckett's resignation had put him off the police force for the time being, but it wouldn't keep him there forever. It wasn't as if Beckett was going to remain unemployed forever. Maybe for now they were content with their extended holiday from responsibility… but Alexis, practical as ever, was aware that things like that were transient. Always changing.

Their vacation was far from permanent.

And even if they intended to keep it up for as long as they could… something would pull them back. Beckett's mother's murder. The case that kept almost getting her father killed. The one that he had refused to give up but had deleted from his high-tech murder board last week.

She climbed the stairs back up to her room, feeling Gram's curious eyes following her, and shut the door behind her before she dared extract the flash drive from where she had taped it under her desk drawer. She plugged it into her computer, and then picked up right where she had left off last night: filling herself in on every last detail of the investigation that might mean the difference between her father's life and his death.

~CxBxCxBxCxB~

Castle slipped through the door ahead of Beckett, a dull buzzing in the back of his head indicating that the hangover wasn't quite gone, yet. The apartment was bright, and he blinked.

There was no sign of either Alexis or his mother. After the benefit last night, he and Beckett had retired to his personal suite at the hotel. He was sure they had made due without his company this morning, though. They always did.

"Anyone home?" he called up the stairs, rapping his knuckles on the railing.

A door opened, and Alexis appeared over the bannister.

"There's my girl!" Castle grinned. "Did Gram make breakfast?"

Alexis shook her head. "I had cereal."

"Well, let me know when you get hungry and I'll whip us all up some of my famous grilled cheese. Ooh! And please tell me you haven't made plans for tonight. I've got a signing and you know how much I like company."

She rolled her eyes when he tucked in his lips and raised his eyebrows pleadingly, but she was smiling. "Fine. I'll see if Gram will keep me company while your signing… books." Her eyes flicked to Beckett, and then she flashed a hurried smile and disappeared. He heard her door close. She had been about to comment on his tendency to sign women's chests.

One look at Beckett told him that he was retiring that signature move. If the press wasn't already speculating, they would be by this evening.

"Hey! We made the front page!" he commented as he passed by the counter, tapping a finger on the picture of the pair of them at the event.

Beckett nodded, but did not comment. While he rooted out some mugs and started the coffee maker, she climbed onto one of the counter stools and began reading the article. He glanced at her periodically, watching the way the shadows on her face changed with the slightest alteration of her emotions. Her frown only deepened the crease between her eyebrows as her eyes darted back and forth over the print.

By the time he set her mug down on the counter, the stark white contrasting with the dark marble, she was deep into the paper… in the crime section. "Anything interesting?" he asked, aiming for nonchalant. His voice came out off-beat, though. Too eager.

She glanced up, the frown lines not dissipating in the slightest.

"Murder on the border of central park," she said. "The 12th is working on it."

He hovered to the side, coffee steaming in hand, and then managed to force out the question. "Ryan and Esposito..?"

"Just Ryan," she clarified, coughing slightly. "Esposito is still on suspension for two more weeks."

"Right," he said, remembering the details. She should be going back in two weeks, as well. But her badge was not waiting for her the way Esposito's was.

They hadn't talked about it, but he suspected she regretted her decision. Not to get together with him, but to resign. He had watched her perusing the classified section a few days ago, gaze hollow and helpless. He had sat beside her and turned on the television, hoping his presence, his warmth pressed to her side, might alleviate some of the stress. She didn't want to talk about it—that fact was written all over her face any time he started to work up the courage. Like clockwork, she saw the shift in him and sent out a warning beacon with just her expression. Then he clamped his mouth shut, turned his head, and changed the subject.

Eventually. Eventually they would have to talk about it. Just not yet.

He suspected that when those three weeks were up they would be forced out of their peaceful, passionate exploration of one another. Their tranquility had an expiration date, when she would have to recognize that things weren't going to go back to normal.

His mental calendar was marked to May thirtieth, and he had a plethora of ideas for things they could do in that time frame. Tonight there was the signing, and then they were retiring to his summer home in the Hamptons for Friday and Saturday and returning on Sunday in time for the Yankees vs. Reds game, to which he possessed box seats. He expected they'd be running into the mayor, and get a reading on how difficult it would be to get Beckett her job back. That was, if she wanted it. Which he knew she did.

The problem was, she would never ask for his help. Not for this, anyways.

"Have you talked to… either of them?" he asked tentatively.

"Who?" she asked distractedly. She was still looking at the paper, and he followed her gaze to see she was focusing on the title of another article: 'What Would Nikki Heat Do?' It said it was written by Jocelyn Tam, and it was tucked below the article on the murder in Central Park.

'It seems that fact really is different from fiction, at least in one aspect. Kate Beckett, well-known detective for the NYPD out of the 12th precinct, garnered her recent fame as the inspiration for the main character in best-selling author Richard Castle's new series of mystery pulp fiction novels. Stepping down last week, though, is out of character compared to her alter ego, who was up for a promotion in 'Heat Rises': a promotion that Beckett herself never encountered. Her resignation has gone without comment from the NYPD, where officials refuse to explain the reason behind her termination and fellow officers will only say that she will be missed on the force.

'The one way in which Castle seems to have captured her actual character seems to be mirrored in his alter ego's relationship with 'Nikki Heat.' The two have been spotted together at a number of high-class events since her departure from the NYPD. One might theorize that he was the reason for her resignation in the first place—'

"Ryan and Esposito," Castle answered her question, snapping his eyes up from the page and wondering how much further she had gotten into the article.

"No," she said slowly, still clutching the newspaper. He could see the veins standing out on the back of her hand. She shook her head to clear it. "I spoke with Lanie yesterday, though. Esposito is spending most of his time with her, now. Apparently he's more bored than anything else. She told him that he could always have a look at the case behind the scenes, but him and Ryan aren't speaking."

Castle frowned. "You didn't mention that before. Did they get in a fight after I… left?"

"In a way." She sighed. "I told you that Ryan pulled me back up onto that roof, and that Gates was with him. Esposito is angry with him for going behind our backs to Gates and pulling the plug on the investigation."

"Ryan saved your life," Castle said, raising an eyebrow. His statement was part question.

"Yes, he did. Which is why Lanie thinks that Espo really wants to make up with Ryan but can't do it. Something about some guy code. Whatever it is, they're not making any effort to fix things."

"I get it," Castle said, and he did. While Ryan had done the right thing in saving Beckett's life, he had also turned traitor by going against the group decision. He had put their jobs on the line on a hunch. Sure, that hunch had paid off because it had turned out that Beckett needed saving, but the principle was still there. The outset of betrayal.

"The two of them are like two halves of the same person," Beckett commented. "They can't survive without one checking up on the other."

"Once Esposito is back on the job they'll find a way to settle the score," Castle said, and for a moment he believed it. But then the look on her face, even if it was only there for the briefest of seconds, reminded him that things would not be the same at the 12th. Even with the Roach Coach back on track, the underlying reason for their dispute came from Beckett.

And she was gone from their team.

~BxCxBxCxBxC~

May 20th, 2012

The newspapers on the counter, when they returned from the Yankees game, were refreshingly free of headlines featuring their names. Beckett still felt the need to read through them, though, pouring herself a glass of ice water and listening as Castle turned up the air conditioner before hopping in the shower. The hum of the machine in the window dulled as the water turned on, and she let her hair fall like blinders as she burrowed herself in the news with the peaceful backdrop of domestic noise.

Jocelyn Tam, the same reporter who had written the first article on her resignation and potential involvement with Castle, had published another two in the past few days: one from Friday and another this morning.

'It would appear that recklessness was ultimately Beckett's downfall,' read one line. 'An anonymous source close to the former detective reveals that she had ignored protocol a number of times in recent years, and that another incident had led to a long-term suspension in coupling with one Detective Javier Esposito, also of the 12th Precinct.'

Beckett scowled at the words. Anonymous source? Who had this Tam woman talked to? Surely not someone at the 12th, as no one would have indulged a fanatic reporter. Last she had talked to Lanie, the coroner had assured her that her fellow detectives were all still on her side. Maybe they didn't agree with her decision, but they certainly wouldn't have gone so far as to weasel out information on her and the case to the press.

Who was this Tam, anyways?

She slid Castle's laptop over from its perch on the edge of the counter, and propped it open, pulling up a search.

Jocelyn Tam was a pretty woman, about thirty years old, with smoothly tanned skin and curly hair. In the image on The New Yorker's website, she was smiling widely to reveal neat rows of whitened teeth, and red-rimmed glasses were perched on her nose. Her bio on the side informed Beckett that Tam had attended Brown University and had won several awards in journalism. They all had long names, but she was sure that Castle would recognize them.

She lived in Manhattan, like Castle, not far from this loft. There was no doubt in Beckett's mind that she was living more off of family money than off of any journalism success. These small pieces speculating on her and Castle's relationship were abstract news, hardly aspiring for the front page. Castle liked to think he was a celebrity, but in all honesty their relationship couldn't be all that interesting to outsiders. His loyal following was probably eating up every word that Tam printed, but the rest of Manhattan was barely taking note.

Her eye caught another line of Tam's article, beside a small picture of the two of them at the last book signing.

'Only time will tell how the end of Castle's legendary bachelordom will affect his career.'

She scoffed, flipping past the article and hunting down the crime section. There was nothing in Friday's paper, and she picked up that morning's edition and rooted through it. She paused on Tam's latest article, torn, and then gave in and began to read, knowing that she would only be curious until she got it over with.

'An anonymous source close to Beckett has revealed earlier that this was not the first incident in which Beckett was involved. In the past, she has been removed from various cases and disobeyed direct orders, placing herself in danger and abusing police resources. Two years ago, she was removed from an investigation and subsequently got herself locked in a freezer, requiring rescue by fellow Detectives Kevin Ryan and Javier Esposito. More recently, she drove her police car off of a pier. The NYPD has refused comment on how it was removed or what taxpayer dollars contributed to in the recovery and restoration of the vehicle.'

Those were confidential cases, the first of which had involved Homeland Security and the second of which had involved the CIA. Neither of them had been mentioned in the newspaper outside of listing the victim's names after the initial discovery of the body. It hadn't cost the NYPD a penny to rescue or to restore her Crown Victoria, but the NYPD could hardly explain that what with the nature of the case.

Where was Tam getting her information from? More importantly, from whom? Beckett still found it hard to believe that someone in her own precinct would dare reveal this much information. And to a reporter, no less.

Castle emerged into the kitchen, adjusting the cuffs on his purple button-up shirt. He was wearing a favorite pair of jeans and no socks. By now, the air conditioning's blast had put the loft on par with her apartment in winter. The cold was comforting, though, in contrast to the early summer heat outside.

He scowled when he saw the collection of newspapers in front of her.

"Not more articles?"

She nodded. "Two more, from that Tam woman."

"What's she saying now? I'm assuming she's not commenting on how handsome I am anymore."

"Is that what she used to do?" Beckett asked, smirking slightly. Why was she not surprised?

"To some extent. She wrote pieces on my new books when they came out, and did filler stories on my book signing events. She wrote one on you years ago, when I first started writing Nikki Heat."

"I assume she was nicer, back then."

He cringed. "Not really. She was less than thrilled by my decision to switch to a female lead after killing off Derek Storm. She thought I was hanging around James Patterson too much, picking up on his female-power vibes and losing my bad-boy style. Something along those lines."

"She sounds like my kind of woman," Beckett muttered sarcastically. "Let me guess, she's one of those scary people on your website. Castlelover01, or something to that degree?"

"Actually," he said, his voice peaking the way it always did before he launched into a long-winded theory that he was excited about, "You'd be surprised to learn that she actually has very little interest in me, personally. I met her once or twice. She's one of those workaholic types. Like you, except extreme. I'm her job, though."

Beckett raised an eyebrow. She already disliked this woman.

"Hey, there's a message on the machine," Castle commented curiously. She glanced over, having not even noticed the blinking '1' on the phone. He hit the button, and they both listened as the machine announced that the message had been left that morning at ten.

And then Ryan's voice came through the speaker. "Hey, Beckett. I figure I can reach you here since you haven't responded to any of my messages at your apartment. Anyways, I really… need to talk to you. Can we meet up? Give me a call back as soon as you get the chance."

"Do you think it's about the Central Park case?" Castle asked hopefully, clearly eager to be consulted on an investigation. He was missing it as much as she was. He had asked her, earlier, if she wanted her job back. She had told him yes, seeing no point in lying. Of course, he had wanted to then pull all the stops on his powerful connections to have her reinstated immediately, but she had stopped him. That might work for him, but it wasn't going to work for her. She needed to work for her own solution, not just have it handed to her.

She shook her head in response to his question, pushing the paper in his direction. "They wrapped it up last night. The ex-boyfriend killed her after she stole their shared television."

"People are wonderful," Castle said with false cheerfulness, shaking his head.

"Aren't they? I should give Ryan that call back. He sounded…" she trailed off, looking for the right word.

"Distressed?" Castle filled in for her, and she nodded.

He snagged the phone from its cradle and handed it off to her, saying he was going to go check for mail downstairs. She nodded, understanding that he was getting out of the way for what was likely to be a private conversation. The Castle she had known only a few years ago would have stuck around like a burr in her side, failing to look even slightly inconspicuous with his eavesdropping.

She dialed for Ryan's cell rather than his desk at the precinct.

"Ryan," he answered promptly.

"It's Beckett," she said shortly. "You called?"

She heard a shuffling sound in the background, and then the distinctive thud of a door shutting.

"Yeah, I did. Listen, can you meet me at The Old Haunt in say… twenty minutes?"

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," he brushed her off. "We just need to talk."

~BxCxBxCxBxC~

Castle had wanted to come along, but she had told him that this was something she needed to do by herself. And with the way Ryan was behaving, she doubted he would have responded well to a two-on-one situation. No, this needed to be just her.

The bar was relatively quiet, and she had no trouble spotting him in a booth along the left wall. He was alone save for the tall glass of ice water. Cindy the waitress brought one over for Beckett as well, recognizing her as she had no doubt recognized Ryan. They were honored guests in the establishment, with their relationship to the owner. They had refused enough alcoholic beverages while on shift for the staff to get the idea that water was more up to par.

She slipped into the booth opposite her former coworker, and he offered a grimacing smile.

"I'm glad you came," he admitted, fidgeting. "I know if I called Javi he wouldn't have."

A faint inkling of the reasoning behind this meeting stirred in the back of her mind.

"What did you want to talk about?" she asked simply, tearing open her straw and dunking it into the tall glass. The water was painfully cold, and the condensation on the sides had already slid into a slick pool on the wooden tabletop.

Ryan hesitated.

"Are you coming back?" he blurted finally, a fearful glint in his eyes. Like he already suspected her answer.

She sighed, leaning back in her seat. That was a hard question to ask even herself. Because she didn't fully know what she wanted, and even if she did… there was no guarantee it was possible. Well, with Castle's help, perhaps. But she had already affirmed that she didn't want it to go that way.

"I don't know, yet."

He nodded jerkily. "Have you, uh… talked to Esposito recently?"

"No," she said, her lips twisting into a regretful frown. Should she have called him herself? Probably. It had been over a week since they had handed over their badges and guns, and neither of them had talked about it. In a lot of ways, she was responsible for his suspension. Her decisions had put him in that place, after all, forcing him to decide the depth of his loyalty to their small, close-knit family.

She had put Ryan in that same situation. He had just chosen a different outcome.

"I haven't thanked you," she realized, and his eyebrows shot up almost skittishly.

"For what?" he asked, confusion written all over his face.

"Saving my life," she answered, as though it were obvious.

"Oh." He didn't seem to find her gratitude appealing. "If Espo was up there, he'd have done the same thing."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I don't mean for pulling me up onto that roof. Although that was nice. I mean… before that. Going to Gates."

Now he was staring at her as though she had just sprouted a second head.

"…Beckett, you realize Esposito hates my guts for that, right? You're out of a job because of what I did."

She was shaking her head long before he finished, lips pursed.

"Castle got it, way before any of us did," she explained. "I was on the wrong track. I pushed too hard; I let the case pull me in until I couldn't be objective any more. And neither could Esposito." She leaned forward over the table, tapping the surface with her index finger for emphasis. "But you were, and you chose to not let me destroy myself. If you hadn't, Ryan… I would be dead right now." And I never would have gotten to be with Castle.

Ryan had a dumbfounded expression on his face.

"Just… just clarifying here… but, you're not even slightly angry with me?"

"Nope," she said easily, offering a reassuring smile. It was different, being out of work with Ryan. She was used to late night research sessions or even to case-closed celebrations here at The Old Haunt. But the two of them rarely got one-on-one time in a non-case-oriented setting. And normally, neither of them would be this open about their feelings. There was usually banter and warnings about over-sappiness. The rulebook had been tossed out the window, at least for this evening.

He hesitantly returned the smile.

"You should talk to Esposito. Work things out," she suggested, making a mental note to call him herself later this evening. Maybe if he understood that she wasn't upset with Ryan, he would be able to understand that he shouldn't be, either.

"I've already tried calling him. He ignores all of my messages."

"Well, he'll be back at work on the thirtieth," she reminded him. "And by then I'm sure he'll be ready for forgive and forget."

Ryan shot her a doubtful raised-eyebrow look, and she turned her gaze away and towards her water, taking another long sip from the straw.

"So, tell me about this Central Park case I read about in the paper," she said, her business-like tone lighting up an eagerness in his eyes. He launched into a description of the crime scene and the body, and, for just a short time, the two of them were able to pretend that they were still on the same team, like nothing at all had changed.

~CxBxCxBxCxB~

May 30th, 2012

Today was different, and they both knew it. From the moment they climbed out of the tangled sheets and made their way to the kitchen, they could feel the change. The shift in the atmosphere. Today was the day she would have been returning to the precinct.

She skimmed through the paper over her cereal bowl, and the scene would have been delightfully domestic had he not known what she was looking for. She paused on the seventh page, brows drawing together, and he swallowed sharply. He knew what she had found, because he had spoken to a reporter. Not Tam, just a woman who had pestered him at the bodega down the street.

In hopes of driving away the curious fans and the frustrating investigators, he had simply told them there was nothing to talk about. All of their theories were wrong, and he and Beckett were merely close. He doubted Tam would believe it, but perhaps it would keep the other tabloids at bay and keep Beckett out of the public eye.

He remembered far too well her reaction to the article that insinuated they were together, years ago. The way she had hated the concept of the press placing them together and talking about them. He had wanted to avoid that.

Now, he saw that it might have been a good idea to tell her what he had said. He had been so caught up in worrying about today and what it meant… that he had completely forgotten about what he had told that reporter.

He cleared his throat, and he wished he could wish away the sudden fear in her eyes. Whether it was related to the article or today's date he couldn't tell. "Tonight is the Charity Ball," he reminded her, and she relaxed.

"Right," she said, nodding too quickly.

He had no idea how to bring it up. No idea how to introduce the one taboo of their relationship. Or non-relationship, depending on how one looked at it. They had not bothered with a definition. They had launched into this adventure together, spending the majority of it in bed, and neither had dared question the seriousness or depth of what they were getting into.

It would be a lie to say that his thoughts on that had not colored his response to that reporter the day before.

A mild definition was exclusivity. They were each other's, wholeheartedly. He had eyes for no other woman, and she had interest in no other man. Her things had slowly gathered into his apartment, to the point that her moisturizers, make-up, and shampoo crowded his bathroom and her clothing was encroaching on the halfway line in his closet. He doubted she had seen her own apartment once in this last week.

It would appear that their vacation had reached its expiration date, no matter how much either of them wished otherwise.

Perhaps it was for the better; perhaps it was about time they sat down and decided a few more details about their future together. He envisioned a quiet wedding in contrast to his loud, boisterous celebrations of the last two. He saw a country house and a redecorated loft. He pictured traveling down the road of parenthood with someone by his side for the first time.

And he mentioned none of it out loud.

If they got there, then he would be overjoyed. If they didn't… then wherever they ended up would be wonderful, as well. He imagined a lush garden and two lawn chairs, and a grey-haired Beckett.

She was the constant. No matter what path they were traveling down, she was going to be there. It was the only way he could see his life, anymore. She had to be a part of it, or he was nothing.

He was too afraid of losing her to dare bring up the conversation they needed to have. At least, not without thinking it through much more thoroughly.

Beckett's coping mechanism was pointed in a different direction. One that didn't even register on his charts. She dropped her spoon into her mostly-untouched cereal, and yanked him off of his stool so she could kiss him fiercely, holding nothing back. She dragged him with her, by the collar of his shirt, to the bedroom they had only just emerged from moment's ago.

He hardly had a chance to register what she was doing, and when he opened his mouth to try to speak, she silenced him with her lips, forcing him into silence as she sent them both tumbling into the still tangled sheets. By now his breath was gone, anyways. She deftly relieved him of his shirt, and he moaned softly when she raked her fingernails down his chest.

She did not pause for reflection of sensuality. Her eyes were dark with need. Deep desperation vibrated off of her, and she continued her dual with his tongue as she threw her own clothing to the side and rid him of his pants. He was hardly keeping up with her actions, lost in the sensations, her scent wreathed around him and her hair falling in regal curls across his bare chest.

Beckett allowed him no option, taking the lead and straddling him on the bed, joining their bodies and hunting down her pleasure like a feral cat with no care but for instincts. This was self-preservation, or at least a last-ditch attempt at it.

She knew she was seeking a non-existent ending, yet that didn't stop her.

"We have to talk," he said heavily, his voice cloaked as he lay beside her, her body curled into his, arms wrapped around his frame and face shielded by damp hair.

She closed her eyes, nodded her acceptance.

~BxCxBxCxBxC~

They chose a public location for their discussion, picking up hot dogs from a corner vendor and making their way into the now familiar park, where they settled onto the swings to eat.

"I came here the night that I resigned," she said, taking the lead that his determined silence had forced her into. "After I left the precinct, I came here and sat in the rain and I thought about why I didn't tell you that I remembered what you said when I was shot." She could see the surprise in his expression, and she took a breath before she continued. "For the longest time, Castle… I've let my mother's case consume me. I've let it give me conviction at work and control my personal life… and all it did was take me away from the things I really wanted. I let it do that."

"And then you changed that," Castle murmured, filling in the blank.

She nodded. "I found out what was really important."

They were both silent for a long moment.

"What… what are we, Kate?" He asked finally, his voice quiet and serious.

She bit her lip, bowing her head. It was an excellent question.

"Because this… this is more than partners," he argued. He needn't have bothered with the vehemence; she knew that they were beyond partners, now. They had been for a while.

She remembered the article from this morning. The one that quoted him saying that they were just friends. She knew that he had been feeding the line to the press, but still… it had dug at her in a way that she found highly unpleasant.

Beckett wanted this definition just as much as Castle did.

"I chose you, over my mother's case and my job, Castle. Of course we're more than partners."

He nodded slowly. "We're together," he said definitively. It was not a question. He held out his hand, and she laced her fingers through his, giving a squeeze.

"No matter what happens," she added firmly.

"…What does happen, now?" Castle asked hesitantly, giving her a sidelong glance. His swing swayed slightly.

She sighed unsteadily, the breath whispering out through barely parted lips.

"I have to get a job," she said. She could see the look on his face, and she knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that she didn't have to. That neither of them needed to work another day in their lives, with the money that he made. She could even map out the argument he could make, about how all the money from the Nikki Heat books should be partially hers, anyways. But he didn't say any of that, because he was thinking the same thing that she was.

She couldn't not work. It was who she was, and she would never be happy, no matter how fun and exciting and new life with Castle could be, if she didn't have some greater purpose to work towards.

But she wasn't going to become a mall cop or a security guard. Never.

No, they both knew where she really belonged. The question was… how did she get back to it?

"I can always call the mayor," he suggested off-handedly, but she shook her head. That still wasn't the way she wanted to go about it. That would only put her in a permanently bad place with Gates, who was already opposed to her—and Castle—as it was. There had to be some other way to go about reversing her resignation, one that didn't involve going over Gates' head.

As much as she hated it, she had a fairly good idea of where she should start.

"I need to talk to Gates," she admitted heavily.

For once, Castle had nothing to say. He just nodded resignedly, lips pulled down to one side in a dissatisfied frown.

They both suspected what Gates would have to say in response to Beckett's request.

"I'll wait a few days," Beckett said quietly. She didn't want to come at Gates on the same day that Esposito was returning. That seemed like a bad decision from all angles.

"Let her cool off for a while longer," Castle agreed.

She hesitated, a realization slowly sinking in.

"Castle," she said, "Even if I do get my job back…"

"There's a very good chance I won't be a part of it anymore," he finished, surprising her.

She nodded reluctantly, and they both hovered there, letting that reality sink in.

~BxCxBxCxBxC~

June 1st, 2012

Jocelyn Tam had been a busy woman, Beckett thought as she sat with a mug of steaming coffee and the newspaper, trying to decide if she was more furious or worn-out at this point with the trend in recent stories.

The reporter had published an extra-long article, and had been bumped up to the third page for her efforts. This one detailed Beckett's obsession with her mother's case, going through every relating case in the past few years and taking great pains to get the details right in her shooting of the hit man and her assault on Vulcan Simmons during his interrogation. Tam questioned the death of Montgomery and Beckett's failure to find a promotion during her career. She explored, in-depth, whether or not Beckett had suffered a mental break in the past month, mentioning that she had been seeing a therapist.

Beckett would have loved to know where her information was coming from.

"You shouldn't read that," Castle said disapprovingly, when he came around the corner.

"I want to know what they're saying. Even if it's nothing good. Isn't that why you read bad reviews?"

"No, I read them because my mother hunts for them in obscure newspapers and shoves them under my nose."

"Fair enough. But I have to know."

"I read it this morning," he admitted. "And I think you should sue for libel."

"On what grounds? Everything she says is true, and when it's not she puts her own opinion into the mix. She's allowed to say what she thinks."

Castle grunted noncommittally, clearly not agreeing. As much as she would like to get Tam off of her back, the lawyer in her would not stop listing all the reasons why the press could not be silenced. There was nothing she could do. Not unless Tam printed something completely false.

"I really don't like that woman," Castle muttered.

"Yeah, well, neither do I," Beckett sighed, finally folding the paper and setting it aside. Things were only going to get worse if she ever did get her job back, and she recognized that. Tam would have a field day. It was a wonder she didn't yet know about the appointment that Beckett had scheduled with Gates for later that week. Or perhaps she did, and was holding onto it for her next ground-breaking article.

Beckett decided that she didn't want to think about it.

"Your phone was ringing, so I answered. Gina told me to get on your case about the latest Nikki Heat novel. You're behind, apparently."

He winced. "You didn't promise I'd call back or anything… did you?"

"No, but it sounded like she might make a personal appearance on your doorstop if you don't send her the rest of the manuscript by the end of next week."

His grimace deepened. "Looks like today's going to be a work day, after all."

"I'll leave you to it. I'm meeting up with my dad for lunch. He wants to have dinner with the both of us sometime next week, so we should work out a plan."

"Well, we survived through my mother… I can't see how an evening with Jim would even compare to the terror of my mother."

Beckett laughed. "He's looking forward to getting to know you better."

Her cell phone buzzed, and she glanced at it. An unrecognized number flashed on her screen, and she frowned.

"You'll be back in time for dinner, right?" Castle questioned, halfway to his study.

"Yes," she said, hopping from the bar stool. Her phone was still buzzing. He disappeared into the study, and she moved towards the door. She let the call go to voicemail, and then pressed it to her ear when the alert appeared on her screen.

"Detective Beckett, this is Jocelyn Tam," the voice on the recording informed her, and she did a double-take, stopping short in the middle of the hallway. "I understand that you have every reason to not want to talk to me, but if there's any way you can drop by apartment 5A at 23 East 44th Street sometime tonight… I have some information that might interest you. This isn't about getting an inside scoop, or about the articles you've probably seen in the paper… this is about your mother's murder."

She listened the message twice more, just to ensure that she had understood properly. Head spinning, she pocketed her phone and left Castle's building, catching a cab to the restaurant she had planned to meet up with her father at. She would be an hour early, but it would give her time to think about what she had just heard, and decide her next course of action.

All through her afternoon with her father and her dinner with Castle, Martha, and Alexis, her thoughts continued to drift back to that message. Jocelyn Tam was calling her with information. Why? It was clear that, if she was telling the truth, the information had come from her work digging into Beckett's life story. What had she found that she, Castle, and the rest of the team had failed to uncover in the past?

Maybe it was old information; she thought to herself as she rounded a corner on her way back to Castle's apartment, a bag of fruit from the bodega under her arm; something that they had already found. Maybe it was nothing at all and this was just Tam's way of getting her to meet for an exclusive. Either way, she felt drawn to explore deeper, and get the truth.

Someone bumped into her just as she was about to head up to the apartment, and she grimaced in surprise as she looked down at the jagged cut lines on her arm, glancing over her shoulder but only seeing the back of a black hoodie rushing away. Everyone was always in a hurry in this city. And what had cut her, anyways? She shook her head and started the slow climb up the stairs. She was in no rush to get through today. Her thoughts were still a blur.

She warred with herself over whether or not to tell Castle. They were together, now, because she had realized he was more important than solving her mother's murder. To tell him that she was going to follow a possible new lead in the case was a turnaround from all that they were working towards.

But she had to know. And once she knew, she would share the information—if it was important—with Castle. They would figure out what to do with it, together. It wouldn't change their relationship or his importance in her life. These things could work in cohesion. She could be with him and still face her mother's case. Just so long as she kept her priorities in the right order.

That was why she slipped out of bed that night, after Castle had fallen off into a deep slumber. She unfolded herself from the sheets and shimmied into her jeans and a t-shirt, tiptoeing her way through the loft and making sure the door didn't squeak behind her as she carefully shut it.

She would be back soon, she convinced herself, and he would never know she was gone. Tam probably had nothing useful, anyways. She was just making sure. That was all.

Doubts plagued her all the way across town and they did not vanish when she exited the taxi and made her way up the stairs in Tam's apartment building. If anything, they multiplied the closer she got to the room.

She should have told Castle. She knew that she should have. But it was too late, now. She was here, and she had left him alone in bed.

The door to Tam's apartment slid open when Beckett rapped her knuckles against it, and she immediately went for a gun that was not on her hip. She still had a personal weapon, but that was locked in a drawer in her apartment. She hadn't taken it with her to Castle's apartment in the transfer of various items, and up until now she had not found herself missing it. Her stance wary, she used her elbow to push the door open the rest of the way and then avoided touching anything directly as she made her way around corners, methodically searching for anything amiss.

No gun and no backup. The worst situation she could find herself in. She felt vulnerable and exposed, and with every step half-expected to hear the click of a gun as it was raised even with her temple.

But that wasn't what happened.

Instead, she moved through a doorway and found Jocelyn Tam lying on the floor of the bedroom, a bullet hole gaping over her heart.

A/N: I'm so sorry for the wait, guys. Unfortunately this story won't be finished in time for the premiere of the new season. I overestimated the amount of free time I would have this semester. By... a lot. I do promise that this story will be continued and completed sometime soon, however. Thank you all so much for reading!