A/N - Hey wonderful readers!

This is late. The only explanation I can lay upon the sacrificial altar is that I had a hard time giving Susannah a past. I got past that and had a wonderful, well written chapter ready to upload and lost it. It's floating somewhere serenely in cyber-space, being enjoyed by the tenth doctor, I'm sure.

With that said, I submit my substitution.

Thanks to all of the readers and reviewers. You guys inspire me to continue writing. It's an interesting and heart wrenching thing to lose my words. I was proud of the feelings I had communicated and described. I felt that the nuances I had written were animated and just. I hope that these replacements meet with your approval. I think one more chapter after this. Thanks for sticking with me.

Enjoy!

~GeekMom

The Commitment

Chapter 15

One Step Forward and Two Steps Back

"Thomas Randall Callahan," Beckett wasted no time: she started intimidating Callahan as soon as the door opened. The man sitting in interrogation swung his head toward the door. His eyes widened when he saw Beckett and Castle enter. Castle knew it would have been the same if he was there or not. This was Beckett's dais; her forte. She was born to perform here. He would gladly let her have the spotlight and be content to push his metaphoric broom as long as he was allowed on the same stage.

Castle smirked when he noticed Callahan doing his best to sneer but like most creeps who sat across the table from her, he ogled Beckett and you just could not do that with a nasty expression on your face: she was too stunning. It was like seeing the ocean for the first time: when you finally come to terms with the fact that you are incredibly small and insignificant in the world; a mere blemish against the flawless face of the cosmos. Castle had already decided that Callahan was indeed a blemish on society despite the hand he involuntarily combed through his hair or the dazzling smile he was shooting in Beckett's direction.

Castle took a deep breath; was the perp actually flirting with her? His loathing radiated from him. Maybe Beckett was right. Maybe he shouldn't have been in there. Maybe he could accidently clock the guy. Maybe he would.

"I'm Detective Beckett this is Richard Castle." Beckett had just gotten to the introductions. "Have you been informed of your rights?"

'Yeah, rights: you have the right to be dragged kicking and screaming behind a school bus, you son of a…'

"Castle?" Beckett asked staring at him. She had already sat down and he was still standing there, gawking like an idiot, caught up in his rancorous thoughts.

"Um, yeah, sorry." He took the seat next to Kate.

Thomas Callahan dragged his licentious scrutiny from Beckett and studied Castle's face as the author sat down opposite him. "You look familiar."

Castle met his gaze and with a Herculean effort, willed his countenance to remain neutral. "I guess I have one of those faces."

Callahan shook his head and stared at Castle. "Nah, I've seen you before."

"What are the odds huh?" Castle commented disdainfully, "In a city of eight and a half million." He shook his head in disbelief.

Beckett shifted her gaze back and forth between the men. "Mr. Callahan, you're going to want to focus your attention on me. I'm the one going to the District Attorney's office with a report of how helpful you've been or how much of a jackass you've been." Callahan tore his eyes from Castle and focused on Beckett. "Now you can make my life easier or harder and you do not want to make it harder." Castle smirked: he had heard that before. "Tell me how you knew Susannah Hamilton."

Callahan's gaze continued to flicker between Beckett and the writer. "I met…um I worked with her at Public School 86."

Castle tilted his head, thoughtfully. Callahan was holding back. "Did you know her before she worked at the school?"

Callahan looked down at his hands.

"Mr. Callahan, answer the question." Beckett raised her voice slightly.

"Yeah, I knew her when she was in college."

"How?"

"Look…it…it doesn't really matter." Callahan's blush crept up from under his shirt collar into his cheeks. Curious, Castle watched him even more closely. What was the nature of his relationship with Susannah that could have mortified the killer in front of them?

"Okay, we'll come back to that," Beckett said impatiently and then she sighed heavily. She glared at Callahan. Beckett did not appreciate it when a suspect marginalized or ignored her questions but she needed to keep him moving, firing questions and get him off balance. "Why did you send the letters to the principal and the school board?"

"What letters?"

"Really?" Castle asked contemptuously. He let his hands drop heavily on the table. The guy was actually going to play games.

Beckett shot Castle a glance. "We have the letters, Tom. We know you printed them. We traced the imbedded serial number back to the printer in the teacher's lounge at P.S. 86.

Castle picked up the ball. "And thanks to the spy software on all public school computers, we followed the trail to the one of the computers only available for use by the faculty in the teacher's lounge."

"Well, then anyone on staff could have printed them."

Beckett grinned. There was nothing warm or inviting about this particular grin: it was predatory. "Except that you used your own log in to access the word processor." She took the ball back and spiked it.

Castle pulled his lips between his teeth and raised an eyebrow. "Dude, really? A literal trail of high-tech bread crumbs." He shook his head. "Nick Byrd rolled on you yesterday; interesting conversations. That, along with Tammy McDaniel's statement, implicates you in conspiracy. "

"Tammy said you wanted something from Susannah. What was it?"

Callahan, despite his sweating brow, chose to exercise his right to remain silent.

"No? Okay, let me help you." Beckett pursued her prey mercilessly. "Susannah ran a program for special needs kids. Her methodology had been applauded and copied by other school systems. One of the keys to the program was to not label kids," she glanced at Castle as she made air quotes emphasizing the word label, "and to really meet their needs on an individual basis. Another was to be selective and further, to accept only the kids that could really benefit from her specific program." Beckett made an exaggerated display of looking through the file. "But according to the school's records and Susannah's own personal work diary, you kept trying to push more kids into the program unnecessarily despite her resistance."

"Why would he do that?" Castle asked, keeping up the tempo and pressure.

"The more kids, the greater the grant." Beckett answered, turning toward Castle, not waiting a beat for Callahan to even attempt to answer. "You see, Susannah's program was not funded by the school or district, through her dedication and diligence, she had acquired private funding that would fluctuate depending on how many kids were benefitting from the program."

"You found out that the board members of that foundation were careless with their records and didn't request an accounting of the funds. You wanted access to that money so you tried to discredit her." Castle raised a finger emphasizing each point. "First, you tried to manipulate Wilkins to hire Byrd. When Wilkins hired Susannah you laid low for a while and then started sending the letters. Was that taking too long for you? Is that why you escalated to blackmail? Because she chose not to betray the trust that she had been given. But she wouldn't cave, would she." Castle smiled proudly. "You threatened to expose her but she decided to fight regardless of your intimidations. She had done research at the library and then she met with a lawyer. She was arming herself with knowledge for a fight."

Beckett continued. "Her resolve to keep the program going threatened to expose you and your greed. She didn't care about the personal cost, as long as the program survived. Those kids meant the world to her. That meeting with the lawyer terrified you. That's when you killed her." Callahan shook his head but said nothing: no denials, no misdirection.

After what seemed like several minutes, during which Beckett all but ignored Callahan, Castle asked, "Why?"

The question surprised an introspective Callahan. "Why what?"

"Why did you feel you had to kill her?" Castle asked. Beckett stiffened beside him. It was a risk. It might be too soon. "Was this a crime of passion?" Her partner continued, "Was it her refusal to cooperate that angered you so much that you just snapped? What did she do to set you off?" Kate held her breath. She did not have Callahan dead to rights yet. Castle may have blown it in his eagerness. She remained straight-faced. Castle's face was passive but his eyes pierced Callahan's unresponsive façade like finely focused laser beams.

The color leached out of Callahan's face. "I…I…uh…didn't." He offered a substitution: eagerly tossing a colleague into the metaphoric sea of culpability in an effort to save himself, "It was McDaniel: she hated Susannah."

Beckett shook her head and chuckled. "McDaniel has an alibi," she refuted. Beckett then opened the file and largely disregarded Callahan. It was a technique Castle had witnessed many times. Silence while withholding attention: let the witness's own inner dialogue trip them up.

The interrogation room remained silent apart from for the irregular and raspy breathing of the suspect. Callahan searched both of their faces, wondering why they had stopped questioning. At first, he thought he might have beaten them at their game, but as time wore on, he became increasingly irritated. The man openly stared at him but the detective ignored him altogether. He would rather have the questions and accusations than nothing: not being able to deflect or defend was infuriating.

Castle used the time to study Callahan carefully. Castle caught an imperceptible nod from Beckett: her signal to him to continue. "You're a big man, Tom." He said breaking their dialogue's fleeting armistice. "Susannah was tall, young, and fit: able to take care of herself. The person who killed her would have needed to be bigger than she was." Castle paused. He considered Callahan again but the expression on his face had shifted from simple assessment to openly antagonistic. Beckett was beginning to learn that Castle did not just look at someone, something, or a crime scene; he studied it, examining every part thoroughly. When he spoke next, Castle's voice was low, almost inaudible, but not a whisper. It was unsettling: menacing. "How did it feel to watch the life drain out of her? To pull on the rope until she was limp, a dead weight. Did it make you feel important: in control? Powerful? You had something on her and wanted her to play ball. When she didn't, you killed her." He raised his intense blue eyes slowly until they were staring into Callahan's own. Beckett noticed that the color of his eyes, which were usually a friendly and inviting cobalt were now a cold, fortress of solitude ice steel. She had not noticed, before then, that he could use his eyes like a weapon. A weapon he wielded very well.

"I know who the hell you are." Tom sneered, suddenly more confident. "You're that volunteer, the one helping her defend herself, taking her to lawyers. You're the one who made her think she could outrun her past. Well let me tell you that Miss holier than thou Suzie had a hell of a past."

"What did you have on her?" Beckett asked.

"Fuck you," Callahan shook his head.

"Come on Tom, it's only a matter of time before we connect you to the crime scene." Beckett began.

"You were bound to leave some physical evidence: you're not that bright." Castle quipped earning him a glare from Callahan.

"We already have the evidence we need to put you away. When forensics comes back, you'll go for a very long time. Cooperate and it will go easier on you. CSU is at your apartment." He abruptly became anxious. "Something you don't want us to see there?"

"You don't have anything. I want my lawyer."

"Fine," Beckett said as she stood. "You'll enjoy the accommodations of holding while we contact him," she said with the air of a helpful Denny's hostess. "However, it will probably take a while." Zing! Castle, despite feeling discouraged by the amount of nothing they got from Callahan, loved it when Beckett delivered.

She arched an eyebrow and shook her head contemptuously, never taking her eyes off of Callahan as she walked away. Castle followed her out of the room without a second glance in Callahan's direction.

Castle left interrogation and headed for the break room: he needed space, well he needed to put Callahan through the wall but since that was not an option he chose the break room. He wanted a couple of minutes to gather his thoughts and feelings; to regain control of his emotions. He decided to make Beckett a coffee. Castle perfunctorily waltzed through the steps to produce a latte. He stared into the nothingness of the window into the hallway in front of him: his mind a thousand miles away. He startled when Beckett touched his arm.

Beckett signaled the uniform to take Callahan to holding to wait for his lawyer. She surveyed the bullpen for Castle and eventually spotted him in the break room. Approaching the door she called out but he didn't answer. He seemed to be deep in thought. Kate shook her head. Just as recently as last week, she would never have applied the word deep to Richard Castle in any possible context. Kate saw that he was making coffee but not really paying attention. He would burn himself if he wasn't careful.

"Castle," she said gently as she reached out and brushed his arm.

Castle startled, overcompensated and spilled the coffee into the overflow tray. "Damn it," he cursed as he sucked on his middle finger which apparently took the brunt of the scalding from the hot liquid. "Jeez Beckett, what's with the sneaking around?"

"I wasn't sneaking around Castle; you were lost in some deep contemplative thought and didn't hear me." Kate assessed her partner, noting the tightness across his shoulders, his scowl, and his clenched jaw. She decided to try and lighten his mood. "Hm, what would Rick Castle be thinking about so intensely?" He listened to her but his back was toward her while he wiped up the counter top. He shook his head. "Oh, I know: whether he should order fried or white rice with dinner tonight." Kate was pleased with her quip and smiled wickedly.

Rick closed his eyes as her thoughtless barb pierced his skin. He turned and searched her face. She was grinning. This was an apparent attempt at humor: he had to remind himself that she didn't think that it was possible for him to feel anything deeper than what he would want for dinner; that he wasn't capable of being affected by the unhelpful and taunting testimony of the man who probably killed a friend of his. No, she refused to recognize that he might conceivably be thinking of anything more serious than Kung Pao chicken. That was unheard of, funny even to suggest it. He sighed but gathered himself and played along letting a smirk appear on his lips. Pivoting on his heel, he raised his eyebrows and turned back to her. He held out the coffee cup. "Here, I thought you might be able to use this."

Grateful, she accepted the latte. "Thanks, Castle."

His gaze dropped but he kept the phony smile in place. "Excuse me, Detective," Castle said as he slid past her. He had to get out of there: maybe get some air. Rick made a bee line for the elevator and disappeared behind the sliding doors.

Sipping on the expertly made brew, Kate watched him go. Soon, she walked back to her desk, sat and was joined there by Ryan and Esposito.

"Yo, Beckett. What's up with Castle?"

"We were watching from the box. He had some great questions. You two work a perp almost as good as me and my boy here." Ryan said. He held out his fist, which was promptly and affectionately bumped and slapped.

Espo scowled, gesturing to Castle's vacant chair. "So why did he take off?"

Beckett rolled her eyes. "I don't know, Espo, maybe he just went outside for some air."

"Maybe but Beckett, he looked upset." Ryan added as he looked at the now closed elevator doors.

"Nah bro, he was pissed. Do not stop at upset; do not collect two hundred dollars."

"Did he say anything to you before he left?"

Beckett was starting to feel like she was in the box. Her partners could indeed tag team a suspect into confessing anything including their love for their seventh grade teacher. She did not like the uncomfortable feeling. "No, he was just staring out the window over his steroidal coffee maker. He made me some coffee and I tried to cheer him up."

The boys exchanged glances. They had seen how Beckett had trampled all over the author's feelings before. Castle was a good sport and could take ribbing but sometimes Beckett went too far. They knew it was a defensive technique for her: to throw out a jibe before she could be hurt. Both had been the target before. It usually stung. You never doubted her loyalty or her respect and she had your back, but if you were going to be around Beckett and you wanted to survive, you developed a thick hide.

"What?" She asked while looking from one partner to the other.

Ryan raised his eyebrows and blew out a prolonged breath. Esposito screwed up his lips, met Ryan's eyes in a silent conversation and then focused on Beckett's enquiring eyes and sighed. He just drew the short straw.

Esposito stood and motioned for Kate to follow him back to the break room. He grabbed his coffee cup, not that he wanted any coffee: he just needed something to do with his hands.

Beckett followed and closed the door behind her. "So…what?" She asked impatiently.

He turned to the espresso machine and began the complex ministrations to produce a cup of coffee. "How did you try to cheer Castle up?" He asked over his shoulder.

"Oh I don't know Espo, some stupid joke: why?" She sat down on a tall stool by the table.

"Well whatever it was, I don't think he took it like you think he did. He was angry, Kate. Whatever it was, you pissed him off."

"Espo, this is Castle, remember? Happy go lucky, playboy, without a care Castle?"

Esposito scowled. "Kate, his friend was just murdered. Don't you think the guy has feelings about that?"

"Oh of course, but…it's Castle. He never lets anything bother him or get him down. He's the class clown."

Esposito sighed again. "You're wrong Kate. I don't know what you said to him, but he's obviously upset. Normally I'd tell him to get over it but…" He paused and thought about everything the writer had been through in the past few days. "I would hope that if I ever had the same kind of week that Castle has had, someone would have my back: holding me up, not tearing me down." Esposito met her eyes briefly and then opened the door and walked back to his desk.

Kate watched as he conferred with Ryan. Theirs appeared to be such an easy partnership. They intuitively knew each other and acted accordingly. They undoubtedly had each other's back. Granted they had been together longer than she and Castle but it felt like they would never achieve that same seamless conjoining of thought, behavior, and absolute trust that Esposito and Ryan enjoyed. She and Castle were…difficult. It was hard work to work with him to find a rhythm: to learn their partners' dance. Every duo she had ever seen had their own special dance: an effortless, precise alignment and movement. Their dance seemed to be the bunny hop: one-step forward and two steps back. She sighed audibly.

She sat and contemplated Javier's words. She replayed the day in her head. They had fought, he left, he came back, they came to a truce, worked brilliantly together, and at a time when he needed her support, she let him down: in fact, had been callous, not on purpose though: she only wanted to bring a smile to his face the same way he had to her's on countless occasions.

"Shit."

Kate pulled her phone out of her pocket, swiped the face and pressed his avatar. "Damn it," she cursed as it went straight to voicemail. She returned to her desk and called Callahan's attorney with his request that he be present for any further questioning. She tried Castle again.

"Excellent…yes, that's fantastic news Mike." Castle left the precinct and away from Beckett's awkward and hurtful attempt at humor. He walked toward The Mugging to refuel before Callahan's attorney made getting his confession a thousand times tougher. His own attorney, Mike Roth, called just as he hit the sidewalk. His phone beeped twice, indicating missed phone calls but he stayed on the line with Roth to finalize the plans he had set in motion. "Yes," Castle sighed, "yes, absolutely. Mike, I'm not worried about the expense, I owe it to her. I made a commitment to those kids and I owe it to Susannah and I'll be damned before I renege, so make it happen, okay?" There was a pause as Castle listened. "Great…okay…yeah, I'll talk to you later."

He hung up his phone and reflected on how one phone call or interaction could change your whole disposition. He opened the door to his favorite baristas' establishment and escaped into coffee scented heaven even if only for the time it took to order, cajole, tease and compliment John and Sharon and their fine life-affirming café noir and then was on his way back to the precinct, renewed and fortified.

Castle took a swig of the strong mélange he had ordered and munched on the oatmeal cookie Sharon had secreted into his bag. He checked his missed calls in case Alexis or his mother called. He choked and sputtered the dark liquid as he listened to Beckett's round about and obdurate apology. He decided that he needed a moment before he had to head back to the twelfth so he leaned up against the base of the monument in honor of Irwin Creedmoor, the dubious inventor of a multitude of gadgets. Although the monument was erected for his inventions, he is best remembered as one of the foremost reasons for the complicated and arduous journey modern innovators must take into the murky realm of patent law. The monument was installed in the neighborhood of his birth in honor of his numerous contributions to society…before his fraud had been discovered. No one in this close-knit, old-world, middle class neighborhood had the heart to tell his contemporaries or descendants, so the monument remained. Castle basked in the warmth of the humanness of the story but sniggered at its absurdity.

He pondered the absurdity of his relationship with the precinct. He did not have to be there anymore. He had just submitted his second Nikki Heat manuscript and he had enough material to outline four more books. When he was hauled in to the precinct, he had been blocked for several months. Castle had been looking for inspiration, well actually brooding, drinking too much, and gambling, but when inspiration put him in handcuffs, he generally sat up and took notes. He was looking for something specific, or rather someone specific. Her. She had to have been one of the most beautiful and intriguing woman he'd ever met and she was a cop. When he wheedled his way into the precinct and shadowing her, he had a specific objective in mind. Over the next few months that changed, well not completely: he still hoped he might…oh shit, he still wanted her. Castle smirked and finished the cookie. Okay, it helped that Beckett thought he was an ass and had made it clear that that particular fantasy would never happen, but something else too. He worked side-by-side, day in and day out, with men and women who were smart and brave and selfless and generally much better humans than he was. He changed. He wanted more and became more.

At the beginning of his research, Castle alleged that he needed to be at the twelfth to learn procedure. He had a working knowledge when he began, now he was as well versed in procedure as any hardened time worn beat cop or a tried and true detective. It was not about the research or procedure anymore. It was not about the books.

Rick considered the friends he had made there. Espo and Ryan: while they still tried to finagle any multitude of perks from their relationship with a well-known, affluent author, he still considered them friends. He had endured a long and often painful history lesson on recognizing the 'hangers-on'. They were the 'friends' who were there for the party or for the money but when he needed them, and he has had a number of times in his life he could have used a good friend, they were in the wind. He knew could count on Ryan and Esposito. The number of people he could truly count on at one time or another in his life, occupied less than the number of fingers he had on one hand: Mother, Alexis, Damien, Gina and at one time, Sophia. He realized could add Espo and Ryan. Castle chuckled to himself. "Congratulations, you've made it to another hand, Ricky." The friends he had made were a comfort, but there was more. He was more: a partner: someone they could count on as well.

Castle stood, twisted, and cracked his back. He leaned back under Irwin and sighed as he thought about the one person who had him out here in the first place. Beckett. Her.

Detective Katherine Houghton Beckett was remarkable. She had an enormous capacity for empathy. She was brilliant and caring and hot, oh so hot. However, it had been the shallow self-absorbed version of himself who coveted her for her looks. He was more.

The more time he spent with Beckett, the more time he wanted to spend with her. She was frustrating and maddening to be sure, but she was also the most extraordinary person he had ever known. She had her past, with which she defined herself, but she could be so much more. They always seemed to be dancing around each other and just when he felt they were connecting, she would revert to her assessment of that shallow version he was and push him away with a hurtful comment. Rick Castle had a thick skin: you had to if you were going to be an author. Every time you imprinted your words on a page, you gave up a little of yourself: of your soul and if you let the opinions of others penetrate, you'd be destroyed. Opinions didn't usually matter to him. Except hers. It was almost as if she was using his past and ignoring his present incarnation as the justification not to trust him. She did not believe people could change. He knew that. Castle wondered if she believed she could not change either. It was truly an exasperating existence.

Regardless, he had made a choice to assist the twelfth when he signed those waivers whether he realized it then or not, from then on, he was committed. He straightened his back again and stretched to his full height just as his phone pinged with a text. It was from Beckett. It was short: two words, 'Attorney's here.' He finished his coffee and looked up at Irwin. "Time to get justice for Susannah," he said as he headed back to the precinct.