A/N - I told you I wouldn't make you wait. Thanks for sticking with me. I hope you enjoy the ending.

The Castle Wall

Chapter 20

The Dead and the Dying

Kate's eyes grew wide as she screamed, "Castle!"

Esposito and Ryan ran back to the ladder followed by Callis. Houser stayed and helped Beckett. "Oh my God, oh my God…"

"Detective," Houser shouted, "detective, please, let them go, you're in no condition." The fortitude and devotion on the detective's face was heartbreaking. He was her partner. Houser understood. He would have felt the same if it were Callis. He would have gladly put himself at risk. Sure, he was his boss, but they had been through so much together. Houser knew of Beckett and Castle's partnership. He had read all the magazine articles. He was a big fan of Castle's books, too. He could definitely see Nikki Heat in the woman he was protecting and comforting right now. "Let's get you some help."

"Rick," she cried weakly and still she pushed to follow the sounds of the gunshots. He helped her climb the ladder and held her up as they made their way to the waiting ambulance Callis had called for just before they began their assault. She let the medics attend to her wounds, most of which were superficial. He started an IV for her severe dehydration.

Castle scrambled up the steps to closed, locked bulkhead doors. His arms were still bound behind him, so he tucked in his head and crashed shoulder first into the doors. He heard Buchanan stirring behind him. His heart beat hard and fast against his rib cage. He shouldered into the doors again. He looked behind him. Buchanan was unsteady on his feet but still coming toward him.

He laughed coldly as he wiped his bloodied nose on his shirtsleeve. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Castle threw himself at the door once again and the old rotted wood finally splintered and blew apart like shrapnel. He found himself half in and half out of the bulkhead, lying on a mound of earth and grass. He kicked his feet free of the remnants of the door. He rolled over, sat up and looked around. It was twilight. 'At least there is some light,' he thought. He was on the grounds of what appeared to be an old family cemetery. 'Holy crap,' he shuddered and gagged as he realized, 'I was in a grave.' Trying not to dwell on that thought, he got back to his feet and turned to see Buchanan busting his way through the remaining bulkhead with the butt of a rifle. Castle, upon seeing the weapon, said, "Ah, shit! Where the hell was that?" It was not going to be an all out run for his life, but he would now have to avoid being shot, too. "Joe, think. You won't get away with this," he appealed.

Buchanan sneered. "What would Derrick Storm do now? Huh, Ricky? Fight or flight? Pretty basic human nature. How basic are you?" He hoisted the gun to his shoulder and aimed. Castle dove behind a headstone just before Buchanan fired. He fired two more rapid shots in Castle's direction. Castle held his head down instinctively as the weathered stones exploded around him. They both heard Beckett scream. Buchanan spun and exclaimed, "She's out! How did Nikki escape?" He stood and listened. He set his jaw, annoyance etched in his features. He would have to put her back in her place before he finished Castle. Buchanan calmly walked across the graveyard toward the sound of Beckett's screams.

Rick crouched behind the headstone remaining as still as his shallow, shuddered breathing would allow. He listened, expecting to hear Buchanan approaching his hiding place. Kate had screamed his name. But why did Buchanan stop? How come he didn't come over to finish him? Nothing about him made sense. He peered around the stone and caught sight of him standing, just standing there. He started to walk away. Rick blinked a couple of times, gathered his strength, and took a steadying breath. Before reason could convince him to stay hidden, he eased up, trying not to make any sound that would call Buchanan's attention back to him and ran at him with all the power he could gather. He jumped and kicked at the man's chest just as he was turning around. Buchanan spun, brought the rifle up, and took the shot.

Esposito, Ryan, and Callis ran in the direction of the shots across the farmyard, back past the barn and into a cornfield. They saw two silhouetted men struggling in the cemetery on the edge of the field. In the fading twilight, they saw the muzzle blast, white hot, as another shot was discharged.

Alexis sat in her dad's ergonomic leather office chair behind his desk in his study. She surveyed the framed book cover art adorning the walls. Frozen Heat, the latest best seller, wasn't on the wall yet. She looked around the room. She didn't know where he would find the room for it. She was proud of her dad. He was accomplished and he was himself. He used to pretend he was someone else, the 'playboy', she was glad those days of the projected persona were done. Her gaze travelled over the countless knick-knacks and collectibles. She looked at the boat. So many nights she had gazed at it as he read Peter Pan or Treasure Island. In her imagination, led by her father's characterizations, it became the H.M.S. Bounty, the Jolly Roger, or even the Pequod to her father's portrayal of Ishmael. She could still feel the ocean's spray and smell the salt as the words took her away. Her eyes brimmed with tears and she quickly shut the memories down. She tucked her legs up under her and spun the office chair around in a circle. When she stopped, she was facing the bucket of swords. She loved fencing. She loved that he had taught her. He really was quite good. Grams had said it was the one sport he excelled at while in school. Alexis smiled. She could imagine him, as she had before, at an organized match and referring to an opponent as Richelieu or to a teammate as Porthos or Aramis to his d'Artagnan. Her musings abruptly stopped when her mind brought her back to the here and now. She purposely tried to distract herself with his things, but now the true circumstances were crashing over her again. Her father was missing. Grams said that some guy had abducted him. That it was the same guy that took Detective Beckett. The same man that because of his threats, Alexis and Grams had police protection. She opened his top left hand drawer and pulled out a picture he kept in there for safekeeping. She studied the snapshot. It was a picture of the two of them, hand in hand. Alexis must have only been about three or four. They were walking away from whoever was taking the photo, towards a playground, but they were looking at each other. "Oh, Daddy," she said quietly, brushing a tear from her cheek.

Gates finished processing the paperwork charging Patricia Stoddard with the murder of Thomas Wagner, conspiracy and complicity in the murder of Mandy Griffith, the assault on Gina Cowell, and the dozen or so charges resulting from the stalking of Mister Castle. She took off her glasses and rubbed her temples. She filed the charges with the District Attorney's office, but, with her years of experience, she would bet that Patricia Stoddard would be committed to Belleview Psychiatric Hospital and would not serve any prison time for the criminal charges against her. Gates put her glasses back on and looked at her watch. The team had arrived in Denning, but she had yet to hear from them regarding the search. She said a silent prayer that both Detective Beckett and Mr. Castle would be found and that they would be found alive. She cocked an eyebrow, looked toward heaven, and silently added that the bastards responsible would be brought to justice. She walked out to the still bullpen and to the murder boards to box the notes. It was not something that she normally did, but in this case, she wanted to present a fresh slate when her people returned. These cases hit close to home, too close, in fact. She started to remove the photos and notes and came across Janet Marlow's photo. Loose ends. Gates did not like loose ends. How had she tied into all of this? The only connection that they had found was that she was carrying Castle's book when she was struck. Gates snatched the photo off of the board and ran down the little hallway to the holding cell. Stoddard was sitting there, unfazed by any of the proceedings or her incarceration in general.

"Patricia," she called.

Stoddard looked up, recognition spread across her face. "Oh, hi," she said. She stood and walked toward the door of the cell, but was stopped by her manacles. She looked down as if she had just discovered them. "Is Richard here to see me?"

Victoria Gates had seen more hurt and pain than most women with heart and compassion should have seen. She briefly considered Patricia Stoddard. The woman had been responsible for atrocious acts, no doubt, but she was a pitiable figure, still waiting on Castle. Gates inhaled to give herself another second before facing the possibility that Marlowe was just another obstacle in Stoddard's quest to get to Richard Castle.

She held up the photo of Janet Marlowe. "Do you know who this is?"

Stoddard studied the photo for thirty seconds, then a minute, two minutes, as if she were memorizing the face. Gates studied Stoddard during the same time.

"No," she said and turned to sit down again.

"Are you sure? She was killed while she was carrying a Richard Castle book."

Stoddard's whole manner changed when Gates spoke her beloved author's name. "Why would she have his book?" The word 'she' was dripped with loathing as Stoddard said it.

Gates narrowed her eyes and tipped her head up slightly. "Patricia, how do you see your relationship with Richard Castle?" She had her on all the charges. She would be committed for the rest of her life, but Gates wanted to know why. Why had people died? What was it that drove her? At the very center of the Stoddard killings and assault was Richard Castle and she desperately wanted to know how Stoddard saw him.

Stoddard sat down on the bench, absent-mindedly spinning the left handcuff around her wrist with her right hand fingers as if she were a schoolgirl twirling her hair when speaking about her crush. She began enthusiastically. "Well, he's everything, just everything. He is smart and funny and he is a gentleman. He is caring and he laughs at my jokes. He is going to marry me; he is just waiting for the right time. I have everything ready for him. Now that the other women are gone, he can be with me." She sat on the bench, dreamily mesmerized by a fictional life only she could see. One, which she shared with the author.

Gates prodded further, "What if he doesn't?"

Stoddard flew up and charged the chain-linked walls of the lock-up. "He can't be with anyone else," she screamed, emphasizing every syllable. Her voice carried loud enough to have Officer Franklin come through the door to check on the captain. She held up her hand, indicating that she was all right. Gates had seen many criminals, had even looked them in their eyes, but she had never seen eyes as disquieting as Stoddard's were at that moment. These were cold and manipulative, not confused nor mentally ill. "Cause if he is," she continued and her voice changed to something lifeless: cold and hard as steel, "then he'll just have to die too." Gates stepped back. The dreamy irrational fan girl had been replaced by a woman capable of murder and at that moment, Gates was convinced that Stoddard knew exactly what she had done. Maybe Belleview wouldn't become acquainted with Stoddard after all.

Martha finished her third glass of wine. Alexis had come home and after having spent a respectable amount of time comforting her grandmother, she went to her father's study. To find solace, a connection, Martha did not know which, but she let her go, understanding that she needed to prepare herself for whatever came next. She stood and stretched. She looked at the phone: it steadfastly remained silent. She squinted at the clock on the oven: not quite eight p.m. She needed a distraction. She started toward the study, stopping to refill her wine glass and walked through the living area only to be stopped by the sudden jangling of the phone. She ran back to the end table. Alexis came out of the study.

"Hello? Oh, Detective Esposito," she acknowledged Alexis by making eye contact with her. "Yes, oh, oh, absolutely, yes, okay, yes," she grabbed a piece of paper and pen, yes, Benedictine Hospital in, where? Kingston, yes, we're on our way."

"Grams?" Alexis practically tackled the diva.

"Oh sweetheart, we have to go."

"Castle!" Kate shrieked as she sat up suddenly in the back of the ambulance.

"Detective, I really need you to lie back…"

Out of breath, she gasped, "But, another shot…" He forced her to lie back down.

"Detective," Houser said, "I'm sure he's fine. Now, you need to stay here."

"But, he's my partner," she pleaded. Houser and the EMT exchanged a glance.

Houser put his hand over hers. "Look, the sheriff is out there with your detectives and our deputies and your cops. Joey isn't going anywhere."

She swallowed and lay back down on the gurney, a tear escaped and trailed down her cheekbone to her ear. She shut her eyes, miserable in the fact that she could not protect him, again.

Detectives Reynolds and Karpowski and the unis they had brought all ran toward the location of the rifle shots. Karpowski spotted Ryan, Esposito, the Sheriff, guns drawn, creeping around the corner of the barn. She silently directed her company to take up stances. They did and they waited. A fourth shot rang out against the stillness of the darkening field. She motioned her guard forward slowly.

Esposito wasn't thinking after the fourth shot. His instincts and training took over. He stormed the cemetery. He hurdled the first headstone and rolled into a crouch behind the next. Ryan and Callis flanked him. Espo listened. No footsteps, just a grunt of what, pain?

He cautiously stood, gun drawn Callis and Ryan followed suit.

"Joe? Joe Buchanan. Stand up with your hands above your head," Callis called. There was a rustling in the dirt and dried autumn leaves that had collected there. "Seriously, Joey, I'm not fooling around." Having gotten no response, the three men crept forward.

Ryan was the first to see the aftermath of the struggle. "Oh, man. Javi?"

Espo joined his partner; he bent down and felt for a pulse. He looked at Callis, "He's just unconscious."

Ryan looked around and saw Castle leaning awkwardly up against a tombstone. He reached his friend. "Castle?"

Rick looked up and grinned his lop-sided grin, "Did you see that? Tell me you saw that!" He closed his eyes and gasped for breath. Ryan leaned him forward to cut the tape holding his arms. "Aw, shit!"

Esposito, who was cuffing Buchanan, appeared immediately at his partner's exclamation. "Ryan?" .

"We need the medics," he yelled and held up his hand, which was now covered in his friend's blood. "Castle's been shot."

Callis picked up his radio and called the EMTs.

God, he was tired. There was stuff happening: stuff that made it impossible to rest. And he just wanted to rest. Lights: flashing and bright in his eyes, movement; rough and jerky, but then, oh, jeez, rolling, was he car sick? Smells: pungent, earth, sweat, and the metallic smell of blood. More lights: flashing, red and then fluorescent overhead lights one after another; a never-ending white corridor. Sounds: yelling and soft murmuring, a mixture of familiar and unfamiliar voices saying 'Bro, Rick, or Castle', sirens, reports, was that crying? Sensation: pain, poking, jabbing: 'Ow', soft kisses on his cheeks, his lips, someone holding his hand. God, he just wanted to rest. Darkness.

"Mister Castle?" Someone unfamiliar called his name; it echoed, as if the caller were speaking at a distance. More bright light in his eyes. He flinched. "If you can hear me, I'm Doctor Payne, the anesthesiologist;

He opened his eyes a sliver and grinned his lop-sided grin, "Are you kidding me?"

"Yeah, I get it all the time. I'm going to put you under now. If you can, count backwards from one hundred."

"Um, yeah, one hundr…"

"Castle?" He was floating. Safe, warm, soft.

"Castle?" He opened his mouth and breathed in a shuddered halting breath. A hand caressed his forehead and cheek, trailed down his jawline and came to rest on his shoulder.

"Castle?" The voice was more insistent now. Someone's fingers were laced through his. Soft, warm, drawing circles on the back of his hand.

"Rick." Worried and full of angst. No, he wouldn't make her worry.

He struggled to open his eyes. White walls and bright lights, a beeping and dry throat: he tried to swallow. He grunted instead. He tilted his head: the room dipped and swayed. He felt sick. He closed his eyes.

"Rick. No, please don't…" she cried.

He turned his head to her voice and opened his eyes, "Hey," he rasped.

"Oh God, you're awake," she said and cupped both sides of his face and kissed him.

He smiled, hummed a little, and closed his eyes.

She had coffee, honest to goodness coffee. Extra-large, two pumps of sugar-free vanilla. Heaven in a cup. A nurse told her about a coffee shop where she could escape the horrid cafeteria coffee she had been drinking for the past two days while Castle slept. She walked back to the door of his room and smiled as she heard the rather loud conversation.

"But, I need to go home."

"Mister Castle," the deep voice began, "you are not well enough to go home."

"I'm feeling fine."

"Mister Castle, we've been over this: your wounds still need attending…You've only been conscious for a little over a day. I'm sorry, but it will only be a few more days."

She could hear the petulance in the silence.

"Okay, I'll stay in a hospital, but can you at least transfer me to a hospital in Manhattan?"

There was a long silence.

"Maggie, here will back me up, right Maggie"

"Nah, uh, Mister Castle…"

"Rick, we agreed on Rick."

"Rick, then. I am not getting in the middle between you and your doctor. No sir. Besides, why would you want to leave me?"

Kate looked through the window in the door. He looked tired and pale, but the grin and sparkle were present in full force. "Maybe I'll bring you with me." She smiled and pushed open the door. He looked over as she entered. He made eye contact with her but continued his lobbying. "Oh come on, a transfer. My family has to keep making the trip up here. It would be easier. Come on Doc," he whined. He was in his total schmooze mode. He lowered his voice, "Doc?"

"All right Mister Castle…"

"Rick."

The doctor pursed his lips. "I'll arrange for an ambulance to take you to…?"

"Presbyterian, it is the closest to my loft."

"Fine, Presbyterian." He turned toward the door, taking Castle's chart with him.

"Doc? Um, I'll arrange for the transport." At the doctor's unspoken reservation, he added, "Will a medi-flight be okay?"

The doctor sighed and knowing he would be in for another long argument if he refused, muttered, "Fine," and left the room. He glared at Beckett as he slid past her.

"This is gonna be so great." He was so excited. He rubbed his hands together and tried to sit up a little further in his bed. This brought on a coughing fit, which lasted a few minutes. He laid back and closed his eyes.

Maggie finished changing his dressings and said, "Let that be a lesson to you. You think that injury to that lung of yours wasn't serious. You need to rest." Her admonishing of him lost all credence when she smiled indulgently at him. She gathered her supplies and left the room.

"Thanks, Maggie." He turned toward Kate, "Hey."

"How are you doing?"

"Mm, I'm going home, well, back to New York, that's good."

"Yeah, I heard, I mean…"

"Yeah, I know." He thought for a good long minute as he stared out the window. "Pain's better, except for the ribs, where they had to realign… Mostly, I'm just tired, it could be boredom." He yawned for emphasis.

Kate asked, "Are you up for an update?" She smiled at her clever play on words.

"If I were low, would it be the low-down?" He waggled his eyebrows and grinned. He was feeling a little better; she thought but still groaned at his awful joke.

"Sure, you can let me have the news…as soon as my partner kisses me." He rested his head back down on his pillow, and closed his eyes, expectantly waiting. She rolled her eyes, tilted her head, and contemplated his request. She sat on the edge of his bed and leaned in so that her hair cascaded around them both. He drew in a small breath as his pulse quickened at her closeness, evident on his heart monitor's beeping. She moved her face nearer to his. He could feel her warm breath over his skin. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbed nervously and he opened his eyes. She looked into his eyes and gently placed a soft, feather light kiss on each of his eyelids closing them once again. She kissed the bridge of his nose, and the laceration at his hairline. She moved down his face feathering kisses along his swollen jawline and ended with a tender kiss on his split lip. He had kept his eyes closed as she worked her own special medicinal magic. She sat up and surveyed the man who had become her friend, her lover, and her partner. "You, know, staring is creepy" he said, opening his more relaxed eyes again. Her smile broadened. "And, um," he continued, "you missed a spot." He raised his eyebrows earnestly and said, "I got shot," he lifted his hospital gown, revealing the bandage adorning the right side of his torso, just over his hip, "right here." She smirked. He lifted the gown again, "Right here," he pointed it out for emphasis. She smiled that smile reserved for him. There was a knock at the door.

Sheriff Callis stuck his head in the door. "Uh, Mister Castle? Detective? Doc said you were okayed for visitors."

"Come on in sheriff," Kate said, as she stood. "Castle this is Sheriff Kevin Callis and Deputy Doug Houser." Castle propped himself up in his bed, shook both men's hands and smiled. "They were both instrumental in our retrieval."

Castle's smile widened. "I am so very glad to meet both of you. Thank you so much."

"Well, we really just provided back up and the cleanup. You and Detective Beckett, here, you did the escaping."

Castle looked over to Houser. "Have we met before today? You look horribly familiar." Houser was a couple of inches shorter than Castle, was lean but solid, had bright blue eyes, and sported short blonde wavy hair.

"I, um, don't think so, maybe you're acquainted with my brother; he's an actor on Broadway. He spends his time in the city. We're not twins, but maybe you've seen him."

"Maybe." He continued stealing glances at the deputy as they finished their conversation.

Sheriff Callis sat down on the chair near the bed, took off his Stetson, and hung in on his knee. He fiddled with the belt and rim and then began his report. "The Buchanan brothers will go to the city and be arraigned there first on the kidnapping, stalking and endangerment charges, and then they'll have to answer for the kidnapping, rape, and murder of Missy Young. Her remains were found in the same room where you were kept.

Castle listened intently. "I've never heard of tunnels like that before. How were they used, you know, before kidnapping and murder?"

"The original owners of the farm, the Buchanan's grandparents, had the tunnels built back in the fifties. They started out as a storm cellar, but then became a fallout shelter with all the crazy cold war nuclear talk. When the boys discovered them, they made modifications as to how you could get in and out of the various rooms and carved out more inter-connecting tunnels."

"I can imagine their excitement in having found them. When I was a kid I would have gotten lost in the adventure."

"You would have loved the adventure now." Kate added. She was standing next to the bed, holding his hand.

"True," he squeezed her hand, "if our lives weren't in danger."

"Stop complaining so much Castle, think of all the material you have for your next book" Kate said, trying to lighten his mood.

"First, it's too Meta. Second, even I wouldn't be able to come up with the twisted plot that we have just lived through."

"Probably not. Unfortunately, the Buchanan's used it as a place for torture and hurt. There's a history there with the boys' father that I'm not sure of yet, but we'll get to the bottom of it."

Castle contemplated all the sheriff had told them. "Why," he began softly, "um, why did he hate me so vehemently?"

"Castle," Kate said quietly, "are you sure you want to get into this now?"

He turned his gaze to her. "Kate, I need this story to make sense. I don't…I can't think of anything in my dealings with Joe that would have precipitated this." He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. Kate could see his jaw muscles working, trying to squelch the stress their whole ordeal had wrought.

"You're not to blame for this Castle. It wasn't anything you did or said." Kate squeezed his hand in reassurance. He looked dubious.

The sheriff and deputy watched the interaction between the two partners. Callis raised an eyebrow. "Hm. As far as we can tell, it was just your contact with him. He envied your success and latched onto it. He did say, in the preliminary interviews that you held him back, you tried to destroy his career. Now, I'm sure none of that is true, just his warped interpretation of the events."

"No, none, I…I tried to help." Castle furrowed his brow as he explained, "My publisher asked me if I would sit down with him and go over a couple of things with him. We both, uh, Gina and…hm" he looked at Kate, "I wonder how she's doing?" She shrugged her shoulders. "Anyway, we both saw great potential in his work. He definitely had talent." Castle raised his hand to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "I just don't get it," he expelled a long exasperated breath.

"Well, I don't think that's something you or I are likely to ever understand, the important thing is that he is no longer a threat to you or your family." Callis stood and walked the few steps to the bed. He looked at Castle and then Kate. "You two take it easy, now. It was good to meet you both." He shook both of their hands again and put his hat back on his head. "Doug?"

Houser shook their hands, as well and said, "I guess we'll see you at both trials, take care."

The door closed behind them and Castle laid his head back down on the pillow. Kate could see him processing everything that was just said. The weight of it all settling unjustly on his shoulders.

She carded her hand through his bangs, smiled, and leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead. "You need to rest and not worry about that conversation. I need more coffee." She winked.

"That's so unfair. Do you think you could sneak some to me?"

"And risk Maggie's wrath? No way!"

"Good point. We'll wait until we're back in the city…Oh; I need to make that call." He reached for his phone.

She walked out of the hospital into the bright sunshine. The little coffee shop was only a few doors down the street. Kingston certainly was different from the city, but had its own charms.

"Detective Beckett?" She turned to see a reporter from the city, and a cameraman with his video camera on his shoulder coming up the sidewalk. She hastened her stride. "Aw come on, Detective."

She stopped and turned on her heal to face him. He stopped short. Whether it was because of her sudden stop or the glare she currently gave him, he wasn't sure. "What?"

"Uh, I, uh," he stammered under her gaze, she rolled her eyes. "I understand that Richard Castle, the author who has been shadowing you is in the local hospital. Could you comment?"

"This is an ongoing investigation, so no, I cannot comment." She used the rote answer whenever someone from the fourth estate asked her a question. They could ask what her favorite color was and the answer would be the same. 'This is an ongoing investigation, so no, I cannot comment.'

She continued her walk to the shop.

She approached his door and heard voices, again. She sighed; the man just would not rest. She pushed open his door. He was sitting up a little more and had a broad smile on his face. She looked further into the room: Esposito and Ryan were seated. They were engaged in an animated conversation about the release of a new video game complete with exaggerated hand movements and sound effects.

Castle cocked his head toward the door as she opened it. "Beckett!" He smiled and continued, "Tell me you brought me some contraband."

"Hey, Beckett." Her boys greeted her simultaneously. She grinned: it always made them uncomfortable.

"Hi, guys." She took off her jacket and draped it over the last remaining chair. "No," she said to Castle who made a face. "What brings you up?"

"Gotta check on my man, here." Espo said; letting Castle feed his birds.

"Yeah, and we have some news," Ryan added.

"About?" Kate asked.

"Janet Marlowe. Karpowski followed up with the evidence collected from the car."

Kate noticed that Castle was holding his breath. She rubbed her hand reassuringly on his arm.

"It turns out," Ryan continued, "that she was run down by an ex-boyfriend."

"Who also happened to be a rival for a promotion she had just gotten," Espo piped-in.

"So, it has nothing to do with Castle," Kate stated. She felt him relax. The boys nodded.

"Oh, a couple of other things," Ryan said pulling out his notebook. "Gina Cowell called and said to let you both know that she is feeling much better, thanks for the flowers and," he looked at his notes, "she said to tell you," pointedly looking at Castle, "to, and I quote, get your ass out of bed and get back to work. You are late with three chapters."

Castle leaned back and sighed: seemed like things were getting back to normal.