Author's Note: And now we see what Castle is thinking.

The Best-Laid Plans

Chapter 2

Something was up with Beckett.

Castle was sure of it. Well, he was reasonably sure of it, as sure of it as he could be considering Beckett's vaunted poker face and habit of playing things close to the vest. Beckett was not at all a sharer, as Ryan had put it.

But even so, he thought something was up, going on with her. He had no idea what it was though. He'd wondered, at first, if she were mad at him over something. She seemed to be almost avoiding looking at him directly but then at other times, in a seeming contradiction that threw him off, he could swear she was studying him out of the corner of her eyes, only to turn away if he glanced her way.

More, she'd been a little snippy with him–or more snippy than usual, that is.

Was she mad at him? He couldn't think of anything specific he had really done in the last couple days since they'd closed the Damien Wilder case. But then again, he was aware he hadn't exactly behaved at his best during the Wilder case, facing off against Demming the way he had, but he'd thought she'd been okay with it, or at least forgiven him for it, since she had admitted that they made a good team after the case was over.

He tried to ignore the sharp twist in his gut as the memory of that moment reminded him of another, less pleasant memory of seeing Beckett vanish into the back stairwell with Demming. He hadn't been able to see what they did after that, of course, but an idiot would have known that the two of them were only looking for privacy to kiss. And his unhelpful imagination's picturing Beckett kissing Demming, being wrapped in Demming's arms, had been haunting him since.

Entirely tainting any pleasure he felt at hearing Beckett say that the two of them made a good team. They did make a good team–but clearly, she only meant it professionally, had no interest in pursuing anything more.

Which, he supposed, wasn't new. Beckett had made it clear more than once that she wasn't interested and he should by rights have given up and backed off months ago. And yet… he just couldn't seem to do it, couldn't seem to resist her magnetic pull. Because whatever she said, he was man of the world enough to know, sense, that she was attracted to him too. The connection, the spark, between them was too intense, too strong, not to be mutual. He would bet any money on it.

Of course, there was still Demming. Damn the man.

Although Castle couldn't help but have noticed that he hadn't seen anything of Demming in the last couple days since the Wilder case. Demming hadn't stopped by the break room for the espresso machine, hadn't visited the bullpen to see Beckett.

The thought made a tiny little tendril of hope take root in Castle's chest that maybe, after all, Demming might not be as much of an obstacle as Castle had thought, at least not anymore. But then, he pulled himself up sharply, he really didn't know. This was Beckett, after all, and discretion was basically her middle name so she might have just decided to keep her relationship with Demming entirely outside of the precinct to avoid more gossip about it (and there had been some gossip about it in the precinct, as he was all too aware, every word he overheard seeming to cut him).

And he had to admit, too, that Beckett herself had given every indication of liking Demming and more than that, Demming had obviously been totally bowled over by Beckett. So what could possibly have changed about Beckett and Demming's little romance in just a couple days?

Castle might not like Demming–understatement–but he couldn't believe the other man was stupid enough to let someone like Beckett go. And from what he had seen, Beckett had been on her way to falling for Demming too. (Castle tried to ignore the twist in his gut at the thought.)

But the fact remained that Demming hadn't been seen on the homicide floor. Nor had there been any times when Beckett was unaccounted for in the precinct when she might have been visiting Demming in Robbery. And she hadn't been checking her phone any more than usual. (Was it creepy that he knew that?)

Whatever the case, Castle had no reason to think that Demming played any part in whatever was going on with Beckett. Which brought him back to his own self and if she was annoyed at him. Possible, maybe even probable, and there were times when he'd been on the verge of apologizing to her for whatever it was he had done or asking outright if she were mad at him but he had bitten the words back. He didn't want to be that obvious–and anyway, he didn't know for sure that whatever was up with Beckett had anything to do with him. Maybe he was just being egotistical–the voice in his mind that sounded disturbingly like Beckett commented sardonically that his being egotistical was the normal state of affairs–assuming everything was about him–and fine, yes, that was true.

Anyway, on second (or third or whatever) thought, even if it was to do with him somehow, it didn't have to mean Beckett was annoyed at him if only because this was Beckett and since when was she ever shy about letting him know when he'd displeased her? She wasn't. It was partly what he liked about her, the way she kept him grounded, kept him on his toes.

But of course, it could have nothing to do with him at all. Maybe something was up with Beckett's dad? Or even Lanie?

Castle felt a stab of something like regret–or longing or something–as he thought, not for the first time, that Beckett was still a mystery to him in so many ways. Even after all this time. Oh, he knew work Beckett, knew her work ethic, the way her mind worked on cases, knew her intelligence and her determination and something of her compassion. But when it came to her thoughts, her feelings–especially her feelings–he was at a loss. And he knew if anything were troubling Beckett, she wouldn't talk about it with him.

And it occurred to him that he hated it, hated the knowledge that he felt, in so many ways, shut out from Beckett. Oh, he knew they had become friends–he treasured that–but he wanted more, wanted her to trust him more than that. Wanted her to trust him as more than just a colleague at work. Wanted her to trust him with more of her thoughts, whatever was going on in her brilliant mind, her kind heart.

Oh, shit.

Castle felt like banging his head against his desk. Because at that moment, concussing himself seemed like a better fate than what he was reluctantly realizing. He wasn't stupid enough not to be aware of the significance of wanting Beckett to trust him more, wanting to know what she thought, how she felt.

He'd been trying to tell himself for weeks–since seeing her apartment blow up, knowing she was inside, that stark moment of heart-stopping terror–that he cared about Beckett as a friend, a work partner, and that was it. Trying to convince himself he was still in control of his own feelings, his heart. Oh, hell, hadn't that been what had partly pushed him into bed with Ellie Monroe? That just because Beckett had made it clear she couldn't leave his loft fast enough even after her own apartment had blown up along with all her possessions–didn't mean that he wouldn't be wanted by other women. It had been flattering, soothing to his own ego, to think another beautiful woman wanted him–and it had been fun, up until he'd been hoist by his own petard, being played by Ellie like the egotistical fool he was.

But when it came down to it, all he'd been doing was lying to himself. As if denying it would make it less true–an ostrich sticking its head in the sand–all so he wouldn't need to admit that he was–oh god–really falling for Beckett.

Oh, shit. For the first time in his life, optimist and romantic that he was, the thought of falling in love made his heart seem to plummet into the bottoms of his soles. Because he might be falling in love–oh god–but Beckett definitely was not, at least not with him.

He didn't want to love someone who clearly didn't love him–he wasn't such a masochist–but apparently, he wasn't that lucky.

Unrequited love–the mere phrase made his heart seem to shrink.

At least he still had Alexis, he clutched at the thought of his daughter, looking at the picture of her on his desk, feeling a small flare of warmth in his chest as usual. But for the first time in Alexis's life, the thought of her was not quite as comforting or reassuring. He still felt the weight of what felt like a boulder sitting in his chest because he was falling for Beckett–that, he couldn't deny anymore–and she was dating someone else.

And what made it worse was that he knew it was his own fault, that he had shot himself in the foot with his own stupidity. Falling into bed with Ellie Monroe as if just any willing woman would do–and worse, all but flaunting it in front of Beckett as if she would be impressed. Flirting with Madison, also right in front of Beckett.

All so much stupidity, when some part of him had always known that neither Ellie nor Madison–or any other woman for that matter–could hold a candle to Beckett.

It wasn't as if he'd wanted, or planned, to fall for Beckett. He hadn't! (He was aware that even in his own mind, his thoughts sounded petulant but he ignored it.) He hadn't been looking for love. Hell, after the disaster that had been his marriage to Gina, he'd been convinced he should never love again, should certainly never get married again.

But then he'd met Beckett. And she had just… ruined him, become the standard to which he compared every other woman only to find they all fell short. And he had then made it all the worse by acting like such a jackass.

And now he just had to live with it.

He gritted his teeth. He hated being a grown-up sometimes.

At least, in one very tiny mercy, Beckett appeared to have decided not to flaunt her relationship with Demming in the precinct. He could still work with her, still spend time with her, close cases with her. Because, Beckett aside, he did still want to go into the precinct, wanted to keep on working with their team.

He wasn't sure exactly when it had happened, that his shadowing Beckett had become so important to him personally, not as a means of research or even as a means of spending time with her, but for its own sake but it was true. He liked working in the precinct, enjoyed the camaraderie of it, the challenge of it. Liked the fact that the precinct was a place he felt like he was contributing on his own merits, liked the fact that the cops at the precinct were some of the only people he knew who judged him based on his contribution and not on his money or his fame.

He still had Alexis (and his mother). He would still have the precinct and the boys and the work they did together. And he had Beckett's friendship. It would be enough, he told himself.

And maybe, Beckett's relationship with Demming wouldn't work out. And then promptly felt rather ashamed of himself for thinking it because he didn't, would never, want Beckett to be hurt. She'd already been through so much and all he ever wanted was to see her smile, make her happy. (Oh, shit, he really was doomed, wasn't he?)

He pushed the thought aside. He would be Beckett's friend, her partner at work, and that would be enough. It had to be enough.

Of course, his high-minded resolve was put to the test from the very next morning when a body was discovered behind a dumpster.

Castle handed her cup of coffee to Beckett and tried to ignore the spar of warmth that shot up his arm when their fingers brushed–which was made easier by the fact that Beckett didn't quite meet his eyes as she muttered, "Thanks."

He inwardly frowned a little. Maybe she was annoyed at him. It wasn't that she was usually effusive over her coffee but she usually spared him a quick flash of a smile. No smile today and she hadn't met his eyes.

But then, it was hard to be sure because the body was in sight and Beckett was, of course, focused on that. "Lanie," she greeted. "What have we got?"

Lanie glanced up at them with a nod of greeting. "Caucasian male, young, in his 20's, I'm guessing. Single GSW, small caliber. Obviously more specifics to come."

"No ID," Espo chimed in when Lanie ended her brief summary. "So he's a John Doe for now."

"Maybe we'll get lucky on his prints," Beckett commented.

"We can only hope," Espo agreed. "Guy came out to dump his trash this morning and found the body behind the dumpster, looks like he was dragged there. Ryan's talking to him now."

Castle fell into step beside Beckett as she headed over to join Ryan to talk to the witness, who proved to be so shaken up he could provide nothing useful, not that he knew anything anyway. Beckett quickly and gently dismissed him, allowing him to go on his way.

Once the body had been taken to the morgue, they returned to the precinct to put together what little information they had but fortunately, before Beckett could start to get too restive from their lack of information, the phone rang.

"Beckett."

He watched as Beckett's posture and expression changed in that way he recognized from when new information came in and he straightened up in turn although Beckett only said, "Thanks, Lanie, talk to you later," before hanging up.

"What is it?"

"The vic's prints are in the system," she told him. "He's got a record and I'm pulling it up right now."

He leaped up out of his chair, leaning over her to peer over her shoulder at her computer screen, trying not to notice her familiar scent. The victim's name had been Vincent Delgado, 28, with–

"Castle, stop crowding me! How am I supposed to work with you breathing down my neck?"

He almost jumped backward, taken aback at the edge in her tone. "Sorry, I was trying to read."

"Yeah, well, read from more of a distance," she returned.

He tried not to feel the twinge of something like hurt. He didn't think he'd been any closer to her than usual when trying to look at something over her shoulder but it occurred to him that maybe, now that she was with Demming, she was less comfortable with such proximity to him than she had been before. He forcibly lowered his hand from where it had automatically rested on the back of her chair, almost touching her shoulder, and straightened up a little, as much as he could and still allow him to read what was on her screen, the text of which she proceeded to enlarge. She was being helpful, he told himself, there was no need to take it personally, that she really didn't want him that close to her.

He cudgeled his brain back into focusing on the case. Vincent Delgado, 28, with a long rap sheet for such a young guy, all minor things, some misdemeanors, pickpocketing, petty theft. No criminal mastermind, at least.

He had no real family, which at least saved Beckett from the heartache of having to inform a grieving family member of the news, and they turned instead to finding out everything else they could about him with the hope that it might provide insight into why he'd been killed.

"Yo, Beckett," Ryan hailed them.

She swung away from the murder board. "Tell me you have something useful."

"Well, I think you're going to like it," he returned. "Our vic just got pinged as a potential suspect in a jewelry store robbery last night, left a partial print at the scene, it seems."

Castle tried not to feel his heart plummet at the mention of the word robbery. It was a lead and he shouldn't be feeling so discouraged about a lead. But really, was the universe trying to torture him by having two cases in a row involve a robbery connection so he would have another opportunity to watch Beckett getting cozy with Demming?

"Interesting. Contact someone in Robbery and look into it, will you?"

Castle turned to look at Beckett and even Ryan blinked. Wait, she wasn't going to do it herself? Why was she not using her personal connection with a Robbery detective who had shown every sign of being willing to bend over backwards to help her?

"Oh, I–sure, but you don't want to–" Ryan began, nonplussed.

She cut him off with a look that had Ryan coming to attention. "Are you questioning me?" she bit off.

"No, I'm on it," Ryan hurriedly answered and almost but not quite scurried back to his desk.

Beckett swung her gaze to Castle, who felt himself straightening up automatically. "What are you looking at?"

He snapped his eyes back to the murder board. "Nothing, just wondering if the vic pulled off a jewelry store heist last night, did CSU somehow miss finding the bag of loot?"

"They wouldn't have but I'll have them double check the area, make sure they didn't miss any stray stones or something."

She duly did so while he studiously kept his eyes fixed on the murder board unseeingly. She hadn't taken the opportunity to call Demming, had delegated it to Ryan. And her reaction had been uncharacteristically sharp even by Beckett standards. Had she–was it possible that she and Demming had had some sort of fight or even broken up and that was why Demming hadn't been around the last couple days? Judging from Beckett's demeanor just now, he guessed it was more than possible, it was almost certain, but what he didn't understand was why, how. He really hadn't thought Demming was that stupid but, well, he supposed he was being proven wrong.

He studied her surreptitiously as she returned to fill in the murder board with what they knew about the vic so far. She was focused on the case, predictably, so it was hard to tell if she'd been hurt or was upset but knowing Beckett's poker face, he couldn't be sure of that either.

He grimaced a little. Just another day with the impenetrable mystery that was Kate Beckett.

Castle half-expected that Ryan's call to Robbery would bring Demming up to the bullpen, all eagerness to help out on another case, but he was proven wrong. Instead, another Robbery detective, Fuentes, appeared instead, saying he was helping out on the jewelry store robbery and had been sent to see if Delgado was the robber and if so, if his murder had anything to do with the robbery.

Castle took advantage of Beckett being called away to talk to CSU reporting back to approach Fuentes and in the course of some friendly introductions, just "happened" to mention that they had just worked with Demming on their last case.

Fuentes nodded, confirming that he'd heard Demming mention it and that Demming had been complimentary of the Homicide squad.

Beckett returned and Castle let the subject drop, although he was inwardly feeling much more cheerful. Demming appeared to be out of the picture so Beckett wasn't in a relationship, was still single. He tried to tamp down the unreasonable flare of hope in his chest–after all, it wasn't as if Beckett had shown any signs of being interested in Castle even before Demming had come along–but his silly, optimistic heart couldn't quite help but hope.

By the next day, however, even Castle's good mood was fading because the Delgado case was proving to be unrelentingly frustrating. They had spent the last day tracking down and talking to all of his known associates but he seemed to have been something of a lone wolf, without any real close associates and certainly no one who appeared to know anything at all about a jewelry store heist. Lanie had, at least, found a small sliver of glass embedded in the sole of his shoe that appeared to be a match for the glass display cases in the jewelry store so they knew he had committed that robbery but as far as the murder went, they appeared to have gotten nowhere.

Beckett was staring at the murder board with so much intensity that Castle half-expected even it to cringe under her stare and then she abruptly swung away from the board and he leaped up to join her. "You thought of something?"

"We're going to take a look at the jewelry store. I know CSU has been over it already but maybe they missed something."

"But we already know he did it and got away too because he wasn't killed any–" he began but broke off on the look she gave him. "On second thought, another pair of eyes can't hurt."

Her expression eased a little, one corner of her lips lifting ever so slightly. "Nice save."

He inclined his head with exaggerated gratitude. "I try."

He was rewarded for this piece of silliness by a small smirk. It wasn't much but she no longer appeared quite so tense so he was satisfied. (Oh, he really was so doomed.)

The moment they stepped past the crime scene tape and into the jewelry store, Castle resigned himself to what was no doubt going to be an aggravating exercise in frustration on his part. That was made evident from the way the jewelry store owner–who was surprisingly young, probably around Beckett's age himself, Castle thought sourly–looked at Beckett, the flash of interest in his eyes, his stance.

Beckett introduced them–well, mostly herself since the owner, whose name proved to be Sam Hedley, barely spared Castle a glance in his focus on Beckett–and Castle made an inward face. He listened with half a disgruntled ear as Hedley responded volubly to Beckett's questions, spilling more information than most victims usually did in his eagerness to please Beckett. He had apparently inherited the jewelry store from his late father and the mention of a deceased parent had Beckett's demeanor softening just a touch further, which Hedley no doubt took as encouragement

Castle tried not to grimace or grit his teeth and instead focused on looking over the store. It was not the first time and wouldn't be the last that someone they came across in the course of a case found Beckett attractive and he was normally better at ignoring it but it seemed the recent experience of Demming had made him oversensitive.

He pushed the thought from his mind as he looked at the destruction Delgado had wrought on the store. The place had been trashed, the glass display cases smashed, all except for one which held, Castle saw at a glance, the cheap costume jewelry. But judging from the six other cases that had been cleaned out, Castle guessed the total loss must be about a hundred thousand dollars.

On the thought, he realized that Hedley was showing Beckett a single diamond earring that had apparently slipped past Delgado's notice, the one piece that hadn't been lost. Castle glanced at it, paused, and then bent for a closer look. "It's a lovely piece," he commented to Hedley. "May I?"

Hedley hesitated but apparently couldn't think of a reason to refuse with Beckett's eyes on him. "Of course."

"Excuse me, Detective Beckett?" Castle interjected, more for Hedley's benefit.

Beckett flicked a glance at him. "Castle?" She met his eyes and then turned back to Hedley. "Excuse us."

Hedley perforce agreed and Castle couldn't quite resist the impulse, juvenile as he knew it was, to briefly place a hand on her back as they retreated to the far corner of the store, only to immediately drop his hand with a twinge of something like hurt as he felt her stiffen, almost but not quite hurrying to step away.

"What is it, Castle?"

He kept his voice low, their backs towards Hedley, as he held up the earring. "The earring, it's fake. A high-end fake but fake." A good enough fake that it would fool most people at a glance but still, would only be worth a fraction of the real thing.

She flashed a look at him. "You can tell?" It was more asking confirmation than doubting him.

He made a small grimace. "You'd be surprised how much I know about jewelry," he explained somewhat obliquely.

Something sparked in her eyes, her expression, as she started to think, the look he loved, the one when the pieces started to fall into place. "So if that's fake, then–"

"What are the chances the rest of what was stolen was also fake?" he finished for her. Pretty high, he would guess. Jewelry stores didn't mix fake with real and no jewelry store owner worth his salt would make such a mistake. Even if the chances were this Hedley didn't think a homicide detective was likely to be able to recognize a high-end fake from real–or just hadn't thought of it in his eagerness to please Beckett.

"He said he was insured, has already put in a claim for everything," Beckett contributed, her voice low enough to be barely audible even to him.

"Insurance fraud," Castle inserted very quietly. "It fits. Hedley's behind this. Didn't it seem weird to you that Delgado would do this kind of thing? Up until now, he's been a petty criminal, nothing big." From what he remembered of Delgado's history, he'd be surprised if Delgado had ever stolen anything worth much more than $1000 in his life and knocking off a jewelry store–and leaving such a trail of obvious destruction behind–had seemed like a rather extreme progression.

"Maybe he decided it was time to move on to bigger and better things. Even criminals can feel ambition," she countered, not as if she really believed it but more to play devil's advocate as she often did, to make him flesh out his theories more.

He made a small moué of acknowledgement but went on. "We've been assuming this was a no honor among thieves thing but what if this was a scam–"

"Get the vic to rob the place and put in for the insurance money," Beckett finished.

"But that still left Delgado as a loose end if he decided to talk–"

"So he had to be killed."

Their eyes met and held and he felt his lips curving, ridiculously considering what they'd just been talking about, as he felt it again, the mesmeric tug of attraction he always felt in these moments when he and Beckett were on the same wavelength. It was a connection, a sense of closeness, he'd never felt with anyone else, this sudden–irrational–feeling that out of all the other people in the world, this one person knew him, understood him. It should have made no sense, considering how different he and Beckett were, but in these moments, well, it felt true.

His eyes darted down to her lips of their own volition, his breath suddenly suspending in his chest–

But then they heard a small crunch behind them from Hedley clearing away some broken glass and the moment was broken.

Beckett blinked, her detective mask falling into place, her posture stiffening. She gave him one very quick look and then reached out to take the earring from him before turning away.

Castle inwardly shook himself a little–idiot that he was. He really needed to stop this, he told himself, letting his imagination, his–oh fine, his feelings–run away with him like this. Just because they worked together well didn't mean she wanted anything more with him. And he knew all too well that he had a tendency to let his mind invent what he saw, pretend that things were the way he wanted them to be.

"Excuse us, Mr. Hedley. Castle's just remembered something we promised to look into. If you don't mind, we'll have to take this earring with us. I'm sure once everything with the case is closed, the Robbery division will be happy to return it to you but for now, it's additional evidence. You do understand?"

Beckett had pasted on one of her friendly smiles, one she occasionally used on recalcitrant witnesses, and which Castle thought few men could resist, certainly not one like Hedley who already looked bowled over.

"Of course, Detective Beckett," Hedley agreed and then belatedly seemed to catch himself but by then it was too late. And in that one fleeting expression, Castle knew the theory they'd just come up with was true. Hedley was the one behind all this, was the killer.

He glanced at Beckett and saw that she'd seen it too but naturally, being Beckett, she didn't show it by so much as a flicker of an eyelash as she took their leave of Hedley.

Castle waited until they were back in her car and then the words almost burst out of him, "He did it! Did you see the look on his face?"

"I saw, Castle," Beckett rejoined, her tone rather dry. "But a sketchy expression isn't evidence of anything. There are all sorts of reasons why people get nervous about what cops might uncover that could have nothing to do with murder. So it's still just a theory right now. We need actual evidence."

He made a face at her. "There you go again, ruining my triumph with your logic."

Now, she smirked. "It's my job, Castle."

"Well, give your job a rest every once in a while," he pretended to grouse.

"Nah," she denied after a moment of mock thought. "It's too much fun to watch you make that face."

His heart–stupid, susceptible organ that it was–leaped inside him and he tried to tamp it down. "Ha ha," he returned, trying to sound disgruntled.

She shot him another smirk (and he wondered if there was something wrong with him to love her teasing smirks so much) and he gave in to his own smile and thought that, at least as long as they could work together like this, as long as she teased him like this, this would be enough. Almost enough.

~To be continued…~

A/N 2: Thank you, as always, to all readers and reviewers.