Ex Post Facto
By Dana Keylits

She kept her eyes cast downward, focusing on the ancient scratch that ran deep across her desk - carved there years ago by the twin sins of carelessness and haste, as the brooding Secret Service Agent approached. A frowning Captain Gates following, two paces behind him, either to protect or cast out, it wasn't clear. But, Kate knew what he was going to say before he even said it, clearly Gates did too, and, reaching for Castle's hand, she closed her eyes.

"Detective Katherine Beckett?"

She paused a beat, taking a cleansing breath, trying to memorize the feel of Castle's hand in hers; the warmth of his skin, the weight and pressure of his grip, how her fingers perfectly entwined themselves with his, as though their hands were born to find each other; like missing pieces. "Yes," she murmured, not looking up, not doing anything but holding his hand.

"Detective Beckett, I need you to surrender your badge and gun," the agent barked, his deep baritone echoing throughout the bullpen, every cop in the room focused on what was happening to Kate. They could literally hear a pin drop as one rolled past the beaten edge of a corner desk and ricocheted off the hardwood floor. "Stand up please. Place your hands behind your back."

Kate opened her eyes, instantly meeting Castle's tortured gaze, holding it like a talisman against the darker forces that would consume them. She reluctantly let go of his hand, having to wiggle free because he wouldn't release her. She opened the top drawer of her desk and placed her badge and gun on top of it, then she stood up and turned around. Castle stood too, facing her, his hand palming her cheek as the floodgates opened and the tears flowed freely down her cheeks. He whispered to her, promising that he'd fix this, promising that he'd get her out. That he and Ryan and Javi would work around the clock to free her, to clear her name, to find the real killer. Gates too, even Gates would help. But, Kate knew he couldn't really do anything, knew that there wouldn't be any evidence to free her, knew that this time, this time they wouldn't be able to fix it. That this time, there would be no 'happily ever after.'

"Katherine Beckett..."

The cuffs were cold and hard, uncompromising as she had been, and he'd carelessly pinched the delicate skin on her right hand as he'd bound her wrists, the pain shooting up her arm like a sudden jolt of lightning. She swallowed, squeezing her eyes shut against the suddenly unbearable brightness of the fluorescent lights above her. Waiting for the words. Waiting. Waiting. As though time had stalled and this was all happening in slow motion. Waiting. Waiting to hear what everyone would soon know was the truth.

"... you are under arrest for the assassination of Senator William Bracken. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..."

Three days earlier…

Her heart thundering in her chest, she crossed the yellow crime scene tape, Castle at her heels, his palm pressed reassuringly against the small of her back. She checked the sober expressions of her colleagues as they looked up at her, wearing matching expressions of relief and uncertainty. The body was already partially covered with a black tarp, concealing the victim, but failing to hide the area of cement that had so thoroughly been splattered with his blood.

So much blood. Spots and globs and rivers of it, all cascading out from the body, indicating an extraordinarily violent death.

She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it, unable to find her voice against the riot that was happening in her head. Castle, sensing her paralysis stepped up and asked, "Are we sure it's him?"

Lanie nodded, pointing at an evidence bag beside her that held an expensive leather wallet. "It's him."

Esposito caught Kate's eye, tucking his chin, his eyebrows raised. "Visual I.D., too, Beckett. It's him. He pointed at his own cheek. "Even has that scar you gave him last year."

She felt all of the air leave her lungs in one violent rush, her eyes darting from Esposito to Ryan to Lanie, grateful for Castle's steady hand at her back. "Let me see," she barked, her voice barely audible. "Let me see," she said again, stronger.

"Kate, he's, it's pretty gruesome."

Kate stepped forward, shooting the M.E. an exasperated glance. "Lanie, I've seen my share of gruesome crime scenes. Show me. Please."

Exchanging a knowing glance with Esposito, Lanie reluctantly peeled back the stiff tarp. Kate instinctively reached for Castle's hand as the pair first steeled themselves, and then gazed down at the bullet-riddled remains of one Senator William H. Bracken.

"Pour me one more, Castle," Kate demanded, holding the shot glass out with her right hand as she wiped her mouth with the back of her left.

"Kate, you've already had three, you're..."

"Don't handle me, okay? I can drink you under the table and you know it."

He did know it, knew it all too well, and as he grudgingly poured her fourth shot, he grimaced outwardly as he recalled the last time they'd gotten into a drinking contest. They were playing out a scene from his first Nikki Heat book - tequila and twenty questions. She'd won. He'd gotten hung-over.

Lesson learned.

He watched as she pounded back the shot, the amber liquid sailing past her lips on its way down her throat where it would undoubtedly leave a delicious burn. She slammed the shot glass on the marble countertop and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her cheeks and neck were crimson, her eyes ablaze. He'd seen her like this before, her normally steely demeanor replaced by a fiery combination of passion and anger. It was that Kate Beckett that had nearly put Vulcan Simmons through a one-way mirror, that Kate Beckett who'd pistol-whipped Bracken, leaving a permanent scar on the Senators left cheek.

And, it appeared, it was that Kate Beckett who was sitting on a stool in their kitchen, slamming back shots of Jägermeister .

Except, there was something slightly off, something that seemed not quite right, not quite like his Beckett. Something dark, something secretive. He couldn't quite identify it, but it gave him an ominous feeling.

"I don't think this is over, Castle."

Pulled from his thoughts, he glanced up at her and then capped the bottle of Jägermeister. "Why do you say that?"

She leaned back, drawing one knee up to her chest as she watched him haul out cartons of leftover take out food. He suddenly realized he was starving, and neither of them had bothered to eat anything once they'd come home from the precinct. "Because, Castle..." She opened a carton of leftover Kung Pao Chicken he'd just placed on the counter, plucking a congealed piece from the box and tossing it into her mouth as she explained, "...Bracken may be dead, but his gang of thieves is still out there, including, Vulcan Simmons. What's to prevent them from going after me now? I've got nothing on any of them."

"You just said it, Kate." Castle argued, reaching into the drawer below him for a fork, and stabbing it into the carton of Kung Pao. "You've got nothing on them." Hip-checking the drawer closed, he shoveled the chicken out of the carton and onto a plate. "Why would they bother you?" He tossed the plate into the microwave and punched easy cook. The microwave whirred to life and Castle returned to the counter to stare at Kate.

She looked pissed.

Kate picked up the fork Castle had laid out for her and grabbed another carton. Beef and Broccoli this time, and it made Castle realize how much Chinese food they'd been ordering recently, he vowed to get to the grocery store tomorrow and make them a proper meal. She stabbed angrily at its contents, her face a mask of anger and something, something he couldn't quite put his thumb over.

She finally looked up at him darkly, her eyes smoldering, her pupils constricted. "What if they think I did it?"

His heart slammed against his ribcage, and his head snapped up. "What? Who? Simmons and his thugs? Why would they think that?"

She stared back at him, but seemed to be looking right through him; her hazel-green eyes an agitated pool of chaos and uncertainty. "I had motive, right?"

His legs felt like tree trunks as he walked around the counter, her narrowed eyes tracking him as he approached. He didn't want to ask, he didn't. What did it say about him if he thought she'd done...he wasn't even going to think it. But she was scaring him, something about her was different, something was off, like he was observing some weird Star Trek Mirror, Mirror version of her.

But he wasn't going to ask.

He wasn't.

He'd wanted to ask her. She could tell, could see the question brimming behind his eyes, dancing on his tongue. But he hadn't, and she had to give him credit.

Instead, he'd wrapped her in a tight embrace, enveloping her in the cradle of his reassuring arms until her body had finally relaxed, the tension she'd been togged up in since getting the call this morning sloughing off of her like slowly melting butter.

They'd left everything exactly where it was, the open cartons on the counter, the dishes in the sink, they hadn't even bothered turning off the lights. They'd gone to bed, slipping out of their clothes and under the covers, not bothering to put on pajamas; not needing them.

Their lovemaking had been quiet, tempered, but adoring and sweet, tender, satisfying for them both, as it always was. And, as she lay coiled around him now, naked and warm, her body gently humming against him, reassured by his deeply measured breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest, her mind wandered back to this morning. To the crime scene.

To the bloodied corpse of William Bracken.

He'd been shot seventeen times. Once each through the forehead, mouth, and throat, and fourteen times in the chest and stomach, enough to make his upper body look like a human piece of Swiss cheese. The shots had come fast and furious, but according to Lanie, he'd died instantly from the first shot. Straight through the throat, separating his brain stem from his brain.

And, if anyone had asked her, which no one had, Kate would have told them it was far too merciful a death for the man. Despite the fact that he'd been found, fittingly, next to a pile of garbage, Kate had hoped he'd suffer more.

Still. He was dead. And, as she burrowed closer to Castle, relishing the warmth that radiated from his body, she thought to herself that at least that was something.

Even if it wasn't enough.

Two days earlier...

He'd been shot with a police-issued Glock-17, which had been found by uniforms only a block from the crime scene. The gun wasn't a match for any service weapon on record, but still, it stunk. It stunk to high heaven and Captain Gates and the brass at One-PP were having a fit, desperate to figure out how the killer had managed to get their hands on a police-issued weapon; and, itching to get someone fired if it turned out the weapon had fallen into the hands of an assassin because of police incompetence, which, in all likelihood, it had. Some heads were gonna roll, they were gonna roll fast and they were gonna roll hard.

But, not before an arrest had been made. Not before they'd reassured the citizens of New York that the honorable Senator Bracken's assassin would be brought to justice, and preferably before his flag draped coffin was lowered into the ground.

That was their highest priority.

They'd soon discovered that the gun hadn't yet been assigned to any member of the NYPD, and was instead one of a hundred new weapons that had just been acquired for incoming recruits. The weapon had been stored at the main NYPD warehouse downtown, and only a cop or civilian employee could have gotten their hands on it. And even then, they'd have had to jump through at least nine different hoops just to get close enough, their hands sticky from red tape.

It had only taken an hour for the Secret Service to descend upon the Twelfth and take over the investigation, requesting the "assistance" of the NYPD, of course, but Captain Gates and her team had been very politely, if not firmly, informed that they could no longer investigate any part of the case without the authorization of the Federal Government.

To make matters worse, the fact that Senator Bracken had been assassinated by someone using a police service weapon, meant that there was going to be trouble for any cop who'd been anywhere near the warehouse. And that meant dozens of cops were about to go through a thorough vetting process.

Not only were weapons stored at the warehouse, but it was also where the auto fleet was housed. Anytime a cop needed an undercover vehicle, a surveillance van, or a replacement cruiser, that warehouse is where they had to go to get it. Cops were in and out of there all day long, seven days a week.

It was a nightmare.

Agents Anderson and Garcia had studied the warehouse logs, writing down the names of any cop or civilian employee who'd been at the warehouse on the three days between the gun having been inventoried and the time of the murder. Other than the personnel who worked at the warehouse, that meant there were 23 cops and two civilians on their list. One of the civilians had signed in at the same time as a cop, presumably accompanying them, and one had been there to replace a broken piece of glass in a basement window. They'd gotten excited about the broken glass, thinking it might indicate a break-in, but discovered the window had been entirely too small for anyone older than the age of two to climb through.

At their morning roll call, the two lead Agents doled out the twenty-five names to an investigative team of twelve who would spend the better part of the day interviewing, and investigating if necessary, the cops on their list. Agents Anderson and Garcia had been assigned Detective Rollins out of the 16th, Officer Lacey at the 14th, and Detective Beckett from the 12th.

And, by the end of their day, Anderson and Garcia would be taking a much closer look at the comings and goings of one Detective Kate Beckett.

A much closer look.

As soon as the somber-looking Agents had left, their interrogation of her over, the wagons had circled and Kate was surrounded by cops who were all staring at her with the same question on their faces: What the hell was that about?

Her pulse still racing from the investigators questions, from their intimations about her involvement in Brackens death, she picked up her mug, avoiding the inquisitive stares of her colleagues, and headed to the break room, Esposito and Ryan close on her heels. God bless him, Castle was already busy making her an espresso.

"What was that, Beckett?" Esposito asked, his thumb aimed at the closing elevator doors.

"That? Nothing. Just routine questions." She lied, feeding the vending machine with quarters and pulling out a candy bar. "I'd been at the warehouse after the gun went missing, and they just wanted to know why."

Castle turned away from the machine to face her. "You were at the warehouse? When?"

"They had you in there for a lot longer than just routine, Beckett. What else did they ask you?" Esposito grilled, pulling out a chair, turning it around and straddling it as Ryan sat at the head of the table.

Kate ignored Castle and zeroed in on Espo, her face a mask of annoyance. "Nothing, Javi. Okay? They were just being thorough."

But they weren't just being thorough and Kate knew it. They had something. Something on her, and all she could even think about right now, was how to get the hell out of there without arousing any suspicion. She only had an hour, maybe two, before all hell would rain down on her head. So, she had to get home. She had to get home so she could get rid of her murder-board, get rid of Bracken's file, get rid of any trace of evidence that even hinted that she'd known the man. And, she had to do it before it was too late.

Before there was a warrant.

Before every secret, every deal with the devil, every promise and threat that Kate had ever made or issued to Bracken were discovered, and then exposed. Because then, she feared, not even God could save her.

"No, unh uh," Esposito grumbled. "Something's up, Beckett, what gives?

Ryan leaned back, a vertical line forming between his eyes as he agreed with Esposito, saying, "I call bullshit."

"Dude!" Castle admonished, throwing Ryan a chastising look. "Leave her alone. If she doesn't want to talk about it, she doesn't want to talk about it."

"Thank you," Kate mumbled, grateful for Castle's intervention, but knowing that the exact same questions were brewing in his head, the only difference was he hadn't asked them yet. "I need to get out of here for an hour," she told them, heading for the door. "Cover for me?"

"Kate." Castle pointed at the machine. "I'm making you.."

"Detective Beckett?" Captain Gates interrupted, her body half in and half out of the doorframe. "A word, please?"

Fuck!

Kate's stomach lurched and she immediately broke out into a cold sweat as she threw Castle a worried glance and followed her C.O. through the bullpen and into her office.

"So, Detective Beckett," Gates began as she glared at Kate over the half-glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She strolled calmly behind her desk, indicating with a wave of her hand that Kate should sit in the opposing chair. "It appears there is quite a bit you haven't been telling me about your previous dealings with Senator Bracken." She sat down, folding her hands on top of her desk and scooting forward in her chair. She took off the glasses and used them to point at Kate. "If I am to protect you from unfounded accusations, Detective, I'll need you to tell me everything. And, please, start at the beginning and don't leave anything out."

Double fuck.

By the time she'd gotten out with Gates, it was nearly an hour and a half later. Kate had shared as much as she could without sullying the reputation of Captain Montgomery, or implicating any of her colleagues in the cover up of Bracken's crimes. Gates had been eerily quiet, simply nodding her head, asking only the most perfunctory of questions, and Kate noted, deliberately not taking notes. When Kate had finished talking, Gates had simply stood up, nodded her head, and said, "Okay, then."

Castle was sitting at her desk, in her chair, which usually annoyed her to no end, but today she didn't care. She just had to get out of there. She had to get home. She should have been more surprised, should have seen the red flag, when Castle hadn't put up a fuss after she'd told him, with no explanation, that she was going back to her place instead of going home with him. And, under ordinary circumstances, she would have asked him what gives. But, at that moment, in her desperation, she was in such a hurry to hide the 'evidence,' at her apartment that she hadn't even noticed it.

She couldn't be bothered with the elevator, and instead ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, coming to a screeching halt at her front door and with trembling fingers, putting the key in the lock and opening the door. She listened for any sound that might indicate someone was there, or had been there. But the apartment was empty, and there was no indication it had been searched.

Good, that meant it wasn't too late.

She hurried to her tiny office and threw open the shutters that concealed the makeshift murder board that she'd assembled against her frosted windows.

Her breath stalled and her heart slammed against her ribcage.

It was empty.

Nothing. Not even a stray piece of tape had been left behind.

No, no, no, no, no, no!

She ran to the file cabinet, tore it open and felt for the file where it should have been taped on the underside of the top drawer.

Nothing.

Her heart sank. This was it. This would be her undoing. Castle had warned her, had repeatedly warned her to leave her mothers case alone or they would kill her. And now, it looked as if his prediction were about to come true.

"I moved it."

She whipped around, reaching for her gun and nearly shooting him between the eyes.

"Shit!" She thought her heart was about to leap from her chest as the adrenalin coursed through her body like a bullet train on a fast track. "Castle, God I nearly shot you!"

He held out both palms as though in surrender. "Sorry, I, ah..." he side-nodded. "...you're door was open."

She holstered her weapon and took a step towards him, his words suddenly reverberating in her brain. She took another step closer, a deep vertical line troubling the space between her eyes, as she looked at him sideways. "You moved it?"

He nodded.

"Castle, why would you move it?" She tucked an errant strand of hair behind one ear. "When did you move it? And…" She gestured at the open shutters that had previously concealed her murder board. "This? Are you responsible for this, too?"

He let his hands fall to his sides and inched closer to her, a reticent glint in his eyes as he confessed, "Yes."

A flood of unwanted tears threatened to spoil her carefully applied mascara and she wasn't sure if the unbidden tears were from relief or anger. "But, why?"

"Kate, you know why."

She glared at him, a million riotous feelings devastating her as the dawning realization that he thought she'd done it washed over her. Washed over her like a tsunami, leaving her wrecked. That he had been so convinced she'd done it, he'd come here to hide the evidence. And then she stopped, her eyes like saucers as she also realized that he loved her so much, he was willing to help her cover it up. "Where'd you put it?" She stuttered

He crossed the distance between them, placing his hands on either side of her shoulders. He shook his head, "It doesn't matter where. It's safe."

"But, Castle."

"It's safe."

"Castle, why?"

"Weren't you coming here to hide it, Kate? I just beat you to it."

She had a funny taste in her mouth, tinny, like blood, and then she realized it was blood. Her blood, from biting her bottom lip too hard. "When? Why?"

He took her hand in his and led them to the couch. "When you didn't come out from the interview with the Secret Service after half an hour had passed, I realized their questioning of you was more than just routine. They weren't trying to eliminate you from their list, were they? You were a person of interest," he slanted his head towards her, capturing her hazel-green eyes with his, "...right?"

She nodded.

"So, I figured if they're looking at you as a possible suspect, and if they obtained a search warrant, then," he chin-nodded towards the office door, "...that would look awfully bad."

She rubbed her lips with the pad of her fingers, the taste of blood finally dissipating but leaving an ancient feeling in her mouth, and an overwhelming hunger roared from her stomach. She closed her eyes, catching her breath, catching her sanity, and then she reached for his hand, squeezing it, telling him everything he needed to know. "I don't wanna be here tonight," she offered. "Take me home?"

He nodded, rising, gripping her hand tightly, almost too tightly as though he needed to keep her tethered to him. Which was fine with her, considering she was feeling more and more unhinged.

As they walked to the front entrance, Kate absently reached out to straighten one of the stools at her kitchen counter before grabbing her keys off the countertop and following Castle out the door. She failed to notice the listening device that had been planted below the counter by Secret Service agents executing a phone and wire-tap warrant not twenty minutes before she'd come thundering home to hide the incriminating evidence against her. In fact, it wouldn't be until sometime in the wee hours of morning, after Secret Service Agents had descended upon them at Castles loft, waking them from a restless sleep, scaring Martha and intimidating Alexis, that she'd realize their entire conversation had been overheard – and recorded.

And, as a result, it would only be a matter of time before she'd be arrested for the assassination of Senator William Bracken.

One Day Earlier...

"I have no intention of answering any questions," Castle angrily repeated for the seventeenth time, exasperated but determined. He wasn't going to crack, he knew how this worked, had been in enough interrogations with Kate to know that if he just stayed quiet for long enough, he'd get through it, they'd have to let him go.

After Anderson, Garcia and a score of uniformed Secret Service officers had thoroughly tossed Castle's place, including an extraordinarily uncomfortable search of his mothers bedroom that had turned up all manner of adult accessories, they'd told Castle and Kate to get dressed and accompany them to their headquarters downtown. Castle had balked, insisting he had nothing to say to them, and Kate had dug in her heels, too, knowing she didn't have to go anywhere until, or unless, they had a warrant for her arrest.

So, instead, Kate and Castle had stood in the foyer of his expansive loft while the Agents ordered another search, giving them more time to pepper the couple with a barrage of questions. Anderson had pulled out an iPhone and played the recording of Castle's confession to Kate from the evening before, asking him what he'd taken from her apartment, where he'd taken it, and why would whatever it was incriminate Kate in Bracken's murder.

But, they were a solid force, unmoving, unyielding, giving up nothing, Martha and Alexis, taking their cue from Castle, had been tight lipped as well, afraid that even the most innocuous information that might slip past their lips could be misconstrued and used as evidence against Kate.

And so the Agents had to finally surrender. But, not before warning the pair that they would be back.

And, of this, Kate had no doubt.

The package arrived with the morning delivery, was sorted through the main mailroom, checked for anthrax and explosives, and then distributed to the Agents to whom the package had been addressed.

Anderson and Garcia.

It sat on Andersons desk until well after lunchtime, the pair had executed a search warrant of Detective Beckett's apartment, but had come up empty, although they had seized her computer and were having its hard drive analyzed for anything even remotely related to Senator Bracken. They had also been given access to her desk and computer at the Twelfth, despite the prickly reception they'd received from her Commanding Officer. But that search had turned up nothing, as well.

"What do you think that stick man thing was?" Garcia had asked Anderson as they drove back to HQ.

"Who knows," Anderson replied, who'd been far more interested by the parade of elephants she kept on top of the desk. His grandmother collected elephants, and if it weren't for the fact that Detective Beckett was their primary suspect, he'd have asked her where they'd come from. They would have made a nice birthday gift for Nana.

They'd stopped at Pot Belly for sandwiches and were just getting back, grease soaked bags in hand, to eat at their desks, when Anderson spotted the package. "What's this?"

"I ordered you some porn," Garcia joked, his chair squeaking as he sat down at the desk next to his partners.

"Really?" Anderson asked, picking up the package and shaking it.

Garcia rolled his eyes, "No, not really. I don't know what the fuck it is, just open it, man."

Anderson quickly opened the small package and pulled out a single disc. Giving Garcia an inquisitive glance, he sat down at his desk and popped the disk in his computer drive. His Windows Movie Watcher popped up and a grainy surveillance video started to play. Anderson inched closer, trying to make out the face of the subject on the screen, gasping when he finally recognized Senator Bracken. Garcia leapt up to stand behind Anderson, his chair protesting loudly, and watched as a woman, her back to the camera, approached, a gun trained on the Senator.

"Turn around. Turn around," Anderson muttered, knowing in his gut who the woman was, but also knowing he'd need to see her face if this was going to be used to nail her. Clearly the pair had been in a heated argument, although the Senator seemed relatively calm for a man with a gun pointed at his head. "What do you think this...whoa!" Anderson jumped, kicking his chair backwards as he abruptly stood up. He watched open mouthed as the woman lashed out, pistol whipping Bracken. "Holy fuck, what the-?"

And then, she turned around.

"Got her!" Garcia exclaimed, pounding his partner on the back with an audible smack that turned heads in the cubicled room. "Fuckin' bitch is goin' down!"

Present day...

They followed her to the elevator, Castle, Ryan, Esposito, Gates, even LT. Shouting instructions, support, disbelief. The handcuffs were pinching and she wriggled her wrists to try and adjust them, but it only made them press more tightly. If only she'd paid attention five years ago when she'd had Norman Jessup, self-proclaimed wordsmith, petty criminal, and master of locks, in the back of her cruiser teaching Castle how to wriggle free of the restraints.

"Do not say a word, Kate. Not one word. I've got my lawyer already meeting you, she'll be there when you get processed," Castle instructed, his words spilling out faster and faster as the lights above the elevator indicated the cars swift approach.

"The U.S. Attorney Generals office assures me you'll be in AdSeg, and I will make damn sure of it, Detective," Captain Gates promised.

Castle winced, knowing exactly what that meant. Police don't fare well in prison, they're only one step above pedophiles as far as the other inmates are concerned, and most cops would rather eat their gun than get locked up. Kate would likely be assaulted by the end of her first day if she were housed with the general population. Administrative segregation was her only shot, and even then, someone would undoubtedly get to her. Panicking, he blurted, "Don't drop the soap!" Immediately regretting it when both Ryan and Esposito gave him twin death stares.

But they were all surprised when Kate laughed, even through her tears, she glanced up at him and laughed. "I'll be fine, Castle. Just watch your own back. Okay?"

The elevator pinged open and they all grew silent. The Agents marched her into the car, turned around, and stood beside her as she faced the growing group of supporters clustered around the elevator doors. Kate kept her gaze on Castle and it nearly killed him. With misty eyes and a strangled voice, he promised, "We will get you out of there, Kate. I promise."

She nodded. "I love you, Rick."

"I love you…" The elevator doors slammed shut. "…too."

A moment of hushed silence descended upon the bullpen as they all stared at the elevator doors and watched the lights move from floor to floor until they stopped at 'G', indicating she had reached the garage where she would be goose-stepped into an unmarked van and transported downtown to the Federal holding facility. At least Captain Gates had convinced the Feds, as a professional courtesy, to skip the usual perp-walk, generally done to appease the public, and move Kate in an unmarked van with tinted windows.

Captain Gates spun on the three men, one hand gripping her glasses as she pointed them at the trio, the other firmly planted on her hip. "All of you, in my office, now. We are going to get Detective Beckett cleared by morning. If it's the last thing we do."

They rolled a fresh whiteboard into Gates' office, closed her blinds, rolled up their sleeves, and started going over what they knew. Given where they were now, with Kate on her way through Manhattan's busy traffic to a strip search and a holding cell, the reality of which cut through Castle like sharp glass, it didn't seem prudent to keep Gates in the dark any longer. So, with Castle leading the conversation, the three men brought her into the loop about Montgomery, the slain Federal Agent whose death had indirectly led to the murder of Kate's mother, and the multiple attempts on Beckett's life; all at the hands of the now dead Senator.

"She had plenty of motive," Gates mused, more to herself than to the others, and, looking up at their alarmed faces, held up a staying palm. "But, I don't believe she did it."

Castle, visibly relieved, stood in front of the white board, stared at the photograph of Kate, and then turned back to the group. "Okay, we have to start at the beginning of all of this." He picked up a pen as they ticked off the facts as they knew them. "Who else had motive?"

"His political opponents," Esposito offered. Castle started writing on the board.

"Anyone who'd been threatened by him. We don't know that Beckett was the only person he'd had in his crosshairs," Gate's suggested, watching as Castle wrote known enemies? Blackmailers? onto the white board.

"Vulcan Simmons would inherit the drug and money laundering business if Bracken were taken out," Ryan added, "And, we know he's capable of murder."

"Right," Castle muttered, underlining Simmons' name and pausing. He bit the inside of his cheek and then glanced at his watch. Kate would surely be arriving at the holding facility by now, and he momentarily veered off task to think about her. Had they taken her mug shot? Had she been fingerprinted? Would they spare her the indignity of a cavity search? He could picture her steely gaze as they ushered her into a holding cell, wearing an orange jumpsuit, holding a fresh set of sheets, a blanket, and a quarter sized towel in her arms as she shuffled along in paper thin prison-issue sandals. He hoped she had socks so her feet wouldn't get cold against the concrete floors. Could she feel him? Could she feel him thinking about her? He hoped so, hoped she sensed him. Hoped she sensed his strength, his love, his resolve to free her - even if he had to break her out. Which he wouldn't hesitate to do. Not even for a minute. He was so consumed by his thoughts, his grief, that he didn't even realize it when a soft whimper ascended his throat.

"Castle," Ryan whispered.

Castle turned around, the black marker poised in one hand, "Huh?"

"You okay, bro?"

He shook it off, "Yeah, ah. I'm fine. Say that again about Simmons? How do we know he'd inherit Bracken's side-business?"

"He's Bracken's wing-man," Esposito piped up, clarifying, "...was his wing man. Now he's Drug Lord in Chief."

It was as though a light bulb had just blinked on over his head and he snapped his fingers at Captain Gates. "Sir, didn't you say that one of the reasons the Secret Service even had their eyes on Kate was because she'd gone to the warehouse car pool during the window of time when the gun went missing?"

"That's right," Gates said, crossing her arms.

"And, they got an," he made bunny ears, "...anonymous phone call implicating Kate in the murder?"

Gates nodded.

Castle glanced at Javi. "And, the security video of Kate confronting Bracken last year, only someone in Bracken's inner circle would have had that."

Esposito nodded, catching on. "So, the question we should be asking isn't who had motive to kill Bracken." Castle excitedly tapped the side of his nose as Esposito put the pieces together. "It's who had motive to frame Beckett!"

"Exactly!" Castle confirmed. "And who would have more to gain than Vulcan Simmons? He knew Kate knew about the money laundering, he knew about her past with Bracken, knew about her mother, hell, he probably set this whole thing in motion the minute Kate stepped into his dungeon when she was posing as an undercover gun for hire."

Ryan pulled Simmons' picture from a folder and plastered it on the whiteboard. "And, he couldn't have been happy when Bracken stepped in and stopped Simmons' man from murdering Beckett."

"Or, when his man got sliced ear-to-ear by Elana Markov when she stopped the murder."

Gates frowned, stepping closer to glare at Simmons' mug-shot, she turned around, her hands on both hips. "What has this got to do with the warehouse?"

Castle reached into the cardboard box and pulled out another file and opened it, licking his forefinger and then rifling through the pages. He pulled one out, quickly scanned it and then handed it to Gates. "We need to look at this cop," he instructed. "See who the civilian was that went with him into that warehouse. We should also talk to the glass-repair man." He glanced at Ryan and Esposito and chin-nodded at the paper. "One of those three had to be involved in stealing that gun."

"Mr. Castle, the Secret Service..."

"Stopped investigating the minute they got the audio of Kate and me in her apartment." He tapped the paper she was holding. "I'll bet they barely talked to those three. I'll also bet they only skimmed the surveillance video." He shook his head, "...this has shoddy investigating written all over it, Sir. The Feds wanted a quick arrest, the Governor, the Mayor, hell the President wanted a quick arrest. They didn't do their due diligence!"

"Say that three times really fast," Ryan joked.

Castle shot him a look and Esposito shook his head. "Dude."

Ryan's eyebrows shot up. "What? When Castle does it..."

"It's in the timing, Kevin," Castle softened. "Not for amateurs." He gave Ryan a wink, letting the remorseful detective know they were all good.

Gates walked around to her desk, slipped her glasses on and fired up her computer. "If Mr. Castle is right about this, then we need to get our hands on that surveillance video," she pointed at Ryan and Esposito, "...and the two of you need to go talk to," she glanced at the piece of paper again, "...officer Fitzpatrick, and the Glass-repair company. Acme glass."

"Who names their company Acme anything these days?" Ryan frowned.

"Good point, Detective," Gates acknowledged. "Get on it."

"Yes, Sir."

Ryan and Espo hurried out of the office as Castle collapsed onto the leather couch, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. He felt the cushion dip slightly as Gates sat next to him and he looked up, surprised by the compassion on her face. "We will bring her back, Castle. I know it."

He nodded. "Thank you." Up until now, except for his earlier brief visualization, Castle hadn't really had time to feel what was happening. It weighed heavily on him, like he was pushing through sand, and Gates' confidence went a long way towards giving him hope. "Thank you," he repeated, smiling.

"Sir?" Ryan poked his head in the door.

Gates looked up. "Yes?"

"The surveillance video is queued up," he thumbed to the A/V room. "If you want to take a look?"

She glanced back at Castle. "Shall we?"

Kate sat on a molded plastic chair in the small meeting room, her hands and feet uncomfortably shackled, attached to a loop under the table, preventing her from standing up. The ill-fitting orange prison jumpsuit hung from her body, and her feet were stuffed into sandals that were half a size too small. While a female security guard had watched, they'd forced her to shower, remove all of her makeup, and undergo a "de-licing" shampoo and rinse before she could meet with her lawyer, a smart woman twice her age, who wore a power suit like it was nobody's business.

"Angela Dunham," the woman introduced herself as she took the seat across from Kate. "Don't get up."

Kate held up her shackled hands and offered a weak smile. "Can't anyway."

Angela looked offended. "They have you in fucking shackles? Jesus H. Christ, what happened to professional courtesy?"

"They'd used it all up by nixing the perp-walk."

"Nice of them."

Kate nodded, her hair falling in her eyes. "Yeah."

"So, Detective Beckett, Rick told me everything," she rolled her eyes, "...or at least his very dramatic version of everything." She tucked an errant strand of her short stunningly snow-white hair behind one ear and then opened a file, a Conway Stewart fountain pen, easily worth more than Kate's most expensive pair of shoes, tucked inside of the leather binder. "But, I'd like to hear your version of events." She teased the pen from its holster, gripped it in her left hand and pointed it at Kate. "I don't need to know if you did it or not..."

"I didn't do it," Kate blurted, interrupting the woman. "I have clearly been framed. And, I'm pretty sure I know by whom."

That got Angela's attention and a well sculpted jet-black eyebrow shot up. "Oh? And, who do you think set you up?"

Kate sat back, lifting her leg to cross it over her knee, only to be thwarted by the shackles, so she crossed it at the ankle instead, the shackles rustling noisily. "Vulcan Simmons," she declared without hesitation. "I'm sure of it."

His head was pounding, his ears screaming with the sound of his life's blood whooshing through his veins, and he thought he might seriously pass out right there on the floor of the A/V room. Castle stared at the frozen image on the screen in utter disbelief, his mouth agape, his thoughts in such disarray that if he'd had to voice them they'd come out a jumbled string of completely nonsensical sounds. He finally took a breath and was about to excuse himself when Ryan came bursting in the door.

"Got something!" He exclaimed, holding up a sheet of paper.

Gates stood up. "What is it?"

"This Acme glass company? It doesn't exist!" Ryan handed the sheet of paper to Gates as he continued. "The address to the storefront office is in a building that was condemned three months ago. I talked to the city manager and she said no glass-repair business had ever been located in that building." He stopped to catch his breath before finishing. "The phone number is disconnected, and the signature on the work order is chicken scratch. No one at the Warehouse admits to having even placed it."

"I'd say we've got a solid lead here. Nice work, Detective," Captain Gates praised.

"Feds." Ryan shook his head, glancing at Castle. "They have their heads right up their asses! They didn't even bother looking into this!" He glanced at the paused video, his eyebrows tugging together. "Is that our repair guy?"

Castles heart started to thump so loudly he was sure that everyone in the precinct could hear it. "Ah, yeah, we think so. Can't really make him out, but that's him." Except that Castle could make him out, had made him out, and he desperately needed to figure out a way to extricate himself for an hour so he could investigate on his own.

Ryan peered more closely at the screen, the familiar look of I know that guy flickering in his eyes. Castle panicked and 'accidentally' hit the power button on the remote. "Oops," he lied.

"I think I know who-"

"Yo!" Esposito rushed into the room like a sudden gust of wind, "You're not going to believe what I found!"

"The repair man?" Ryan asked.

He shook his head. "Better," he announced. "Check this out." He slammed a mug-shot down on the table.

"Who are we looking at here, Detective?" Gates asked, her glasses perched precariously on her nose as she peered down at the photograph.

"That is one of Vulcan Simmons' henchmen."

Gates looked up, removing her glasses. "And?"

"And, he bribed a rookie NYPD officer to let him into that warehouse." Esposito looked around the room smugly. "That's our guy, that's who stole the gun and gave it to Simmons."

Castle stared at the photograph. If that was the case, then what the hell was going on here? Why was he at the warehouse, too? "Are you sure about this, Javi?"

"Sure as shit, bro! We did it. We proved Beckett didn't do it."

"Well, this doesn't prove that Beckett is in the clear, but it certainly points to more than one suspect," Gates corrected. "I'm going to get on the phone with the Attorney Generals office, excuse me gentlemen." Gates wound her way past the three men and hurried out the door.

"Dude," Esposito chin-nodded at Castle. "...you don't look very happy about this." He folded his arms. "This should help us get Beckett out of lockup. Why aren't you smiling?"

Castle stared at Espo, then down at the remote control still clutched in his hand. Why wasn't he happy? Why wasn't he elated? Because he knew this wasn't the end. Something was wrong, something was very wrong. Only he couldn't say anything to Esposito or Ryan, and certainly not Gates. How could he possibly tell them that the man in the video, the man pretending to be a repairman from Acme glass who just so happened to show up at the NYPD warehouse the very day the gun that had killed Bracken and framed Kate went missing, was none other than his own father!

The bench was hard and cold, painfully uncomfortable and Castle had to wonder what genius mind over at the New York urban planning department had thought them a good buy. He shifted uncomfortably, biting his fingernail while trying not to look around too much. This break, this time, had naturally forced his mind to think of her. To think of what she was going through at this very moment, and his heart ached with it.

It was almost dinner time. Would she be eating in her cell? Was there a special cafeteria just for AdSeg inmates? Was the food even edible? He imagined her alone in her cell, sitting on the edge of her concrete slab of a bed, cushioned only by a thin lumpy mattress and threadbare sheets, her elbows on her knees, her head down, her mind churning the facts of this case over and over. He closed his eyes and groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as the shame he felt for ever having flirted with the idea that she might be guilty of this crime seized him.

When they'd left her apartment last night, after they'd grabbed a bite to eat and crawled into his bed weary and depressed, she'd flat out told him that she hadn't done it. She hadn't murdered Bracken. He'd not asked, but she must have seen the question lurking behind his expression. So, she'd answered. No, Castle. I didn't kill him. That doesn't mean I haven't fantasized about it plenty of times, but they're just that. Fantasies. I'd never actually go through with it. She'd kissed him, tracing his lips with her fingertips as her eyes followed their progress, then she met his gaze, her eyes misting over, But, I love that you would have helped me hide the body. He'd chuckled, embarrassed by his darker thoughts, but immensely relieved that she had taken no offense. Always, he'd said. And, he'd meant it, too. He would have helped her hide the body. He'd have done it with no regrets.

And, he'd break her out of prison, too, if that's what this came to. They could live the rest of their lives on a beach in Cozumel. That wouldn't be such a bad life, would it?

He was torn from his thoughts by a looming shadow blocking the late afternoon sunlight. He looked up, not recognizing the huge man that stood over him. "Can I help you?"

"Get up," the man ordered.

"Excuse me?"

"Get up and follow me. I'll take you to him."

Castle had no intention of going anywhere with anyone. He'd been sitting here waiting for his dad to meet him. Shortly after escaping the precinct he'd sent a text. His fathers reply had instructed him to come here, to this park, on this bench, and to wait. It hadn't said anything about the Incredible Hulk coming by to pick him up. "Take me to whom?" Castle inquired.

"Get up. Last time I ask." The Hulk opened his jacket revealing the butt of a gun. Well great, what the fuck was happening now?

"Do you work for him?"

The Hulk reached for his pistol and Castle put his hands up. "Fine. I'm getting up."

Castle was led down a path towards a small parking lot where, surprise-surprise, a dark, window-tinted van was conveniently parked. He stopped in his tracks. "Where the hell are you-?" He was quite rudely cut off by the dark pillowcase that was roughly forced over his head, and a pair of incredibly strong hands pulling his arms behind his back. He was quickly cuffed and then shuffle-stepped into the van and dumped in the back. The pillowcase smelled funny.

"Where the hell are you taking me? Take this damn thing off of my head!"

The Hulk said nothing, just got behind the wheel and drove off, quietly, calmly, attracting the attention of no one.

Kate studied the congealed pile of food the guard had laughingly referred to as 'dinner' and her stomach lurched. As hungry as she was, she simply couldn't eat it. Plus the bread was moldy, and the broccoli had been so overcooked that it looked like someone had put Kermit the Frog in a blender and then dished him onto her plate. Plus, it was cold. All of it. As though they'd deliberately let it get that way before serving it to her.

In a place like this, even the security guards hated cops.

Turning up her nose, she set the tray on the floor by the solid steel door, and then returned to her bed, counting the seconds before a mouse would sneak out of a crevice to steal her food. She got to 247 before she opened her eyes to the telltale sounds of little feet scurrying over the metal tray. You can have it, Micky. She thought, not the least bit frightened by the tiny rodent. Bon fucking appétit!

She lay back on the lumpy mattress, tucking the flat pillow beneath her head and closing her eyes, traveling back in her mind to the last meal she and Castle had eaten together. It'd been leftovers, eaten cold, and afterwards they'd made love, slowly, quietly, not their usual raucous affair, but exactly what the moment had called for.

She felt equal measure of despair and desire wash over her as she remembered how it felt to lie naked with him in his expansive, comfortable bed. How safe she felt in the cradle of his masculine arms, how comforted by the steady in and out of his breaths, the tiny grunts he'd occasionally make as he drifted off to sleep. She felt a sob rise from her throat and she angrily tamped it down, determined not to give in to her circumstances. Everyone was working around the clock to free her, she knew this, but she couldn't help but feel that this was it. There wasn't going to be a reprieve, there wasn't any chance that Vulcan Simmons had made a mistake. He was too smart, too calculating, too insulated.

Castle had warned her, when she wouldn't stop pursuing her mothers case, he'd warned her that some day her luck would run out and they would come after her. They would kill her.

Her head snapped up when she heard the key grapple with the lock, and her furry little friend scampered off to the dark corner from where he came, Kate wishing with every fiber of her being that she could join him. She sat up just as the door opened and a burly looking mustached man wearing a prison guard uniform leered down at her. "Get up, inmate," he ordered. "You and I are taking a little walk."

Perhaps today was that day, after all.

He blinked beneath the musty pillowcase, trying in vain to see through the damned thing, when he felt the van pitch forward and then stop. A door opened, then closed, and then they were on the move again. He could hear the driver grunt, must have been The Hulk's customary greeting, and realized the back of the van was open to the front. "Hey!" he shouted. "Who are you? And, where are you taking me?"

No answer.

"I'm not kidding around," he roared. "I have friends at the NYPD. They'll come looking for me."

Still nothing.

The van came to a sudden stop and he heard the passenger door open then close. A second later the side door slid open and he could feel the cool late afternoon air surround him. Rough hands released his handcuffs, and he rubbed his sore wrists. "What do you want?" he bellowed again.

A familiar voice rose up from the silence. "Be quiet, son. Or, you'll get us both killed." The pillowcase was roughly pulled from his head, mussing up his hair, and Castle blinked against the fading sunlight, his fathers formidable form haloed by it. "Now scamper on out of there. We're on a deadline."

They hurried into an abandoned warehouse that, judging by the ancient smell and undisturbed layer of dust coating the floor, hadn't hosted human guests in quite some time. When the door closed behind them, plunging them into darkness, Jackson Hunt flipped the switch on a portable torchlight, surrounding father and son in a circle of artificial light.

"You have questions," Hunt barked. "Ask them."

"Why did you frame Kate for Bracken's murder?" Castle accused, squaring himself in front of his father. Jackson Hunt might intimidate other people, but he didn't scare Castle.

Much.

Hunt stared at his son, a disgusted look on his ruggedly handsome face. "Don't be ridiculous. I did no such thing."

"Then why-?"

Jackson rolled his eyes, cuffing Castle's shoulder with such force that the writer winced at his fathers vice-like grip. "Look, son. I'm going to tell you something that you cannot tell anyone else, except that pretty little fiancé of yours. You understand?" Castle nodded. Jackson continued. "You all think Vulcan Simmons murdered Senator Bracken, don't ya?" Castle nodded again. "Well, he didn't."

"He didn't?"

"Isn't that what I just said? No, he didn't. I did."

Castle stopped breathing. "What?"

"Pick up your jaw, kid," Jackson instructed as Castle stared at his father, his mouth hanging open. "I killed him because he was about three days away from assassinating the Vice President of the United States."

"What?"

"And, after that, he was in a position to get himself appointed the next VP."

"The next Vice President? What?"

"And, after that, he was going to use his new top-level security clearance credentials to secretly sell illegal weapons to a band of rebels in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Syria, ensuring that our skirmishes there would go on for years to come."

"What? Why?"

"Because if that happened, guess who'd be as rich as Croesus with his penthouse, yacht and horses?!"

"Who?"

"Bracken, son!" Jackson exclaimed, shaking his head. "Ain't you payin' attention? He's just become a silent partner of the largest munitions factory in the world, and ya know who his biggest client is?"

"The U.S. Government?"

"Bingo! Not to mention most of Europe and parts of Asia."

"But why kill him?" Castle asked, his face a mask of confusion.

"Because, he's practically untouchable. I've been trying to nail the bastard for years, ever since he financially backed insurgents in Iraq to help a private contracting buddy of his. He does a hell of a job covering his tracks. Plus," Jackson narrowed his eyes, inching his face closer to Castle's. "The son of a bitch murdered your fiancé's mother." He ignored Castle's sudden intake of stale air, asking, "Ain't that reason enough?"

His head was swimming, his heart pounding, his feet felt cemented to the floor. He shrugged his shoulder, forcing his father to release him. "Dad," he choked. "You can't just go around killing people!"

"Of course I can," Jackson laughed. "It's my job. Neutralize the threat to our national security, by any means necessary. And putting a couple of holes in that son of a bitch was necessary!"

"You put seventeen holes in him."

"Well, that was to ensure my plan would work."

Castle looked up at him sharply, "What plan?"

"I knew that spitfire of a Detective of yours was in danger, even with Bracken dead. I had to make sure the only other man who would do her harm was put away."

"What? You're not making any sense," Castle accused, stuffing his hands in his front pockets and rolling back on his heels. "What are you talking about?"

"Vulcan Simmons."

And then it dawned on him. Castle grinned for the first time that day. "You framed Vulcan Simmons!"

"Glad to see that head of yours is more than a hat rack after all." Jackson teased. "Yep. Paid off one of Simmons' guys to pay off a uniform to take him to that warehouse. He didn't have to do anything, he just had to go there, then I paid him a gob of money to disappear. He's probably soaking it up in Costa Rica by now. Simmons none the wiser."

"And, Acme glass?"

"That smart Captain of yours, she'll manage to trace that back to Vulcan Simmons, as well."

Castle frowned. "But what about the phone call implicating Kate? Or, the video? Do you know the Feds have a video of her assaulting Bracken?"

Jackson paused, a troubled look cornering his eyes. "Well, I hadn't expected that. Simmons did that," he raised his hand and then let it fall to his side. "Framed Beckett."

Castle exploded. "I knew it! That son of a bitch!"

Hunt smiled, clapping Castle on the shoulder again. "Don't worry, son, I'm sure that as we speak they've got the man in custody."

"Wait. What?"

"Yeah, from what I hear, the Attorney General is moving fast. Realized their mistake with Kate, doesn't want the publicity. She's probably already been released."

Castle jumped, "Well, what the hell are we doing standing around here?" He headed for the door, an almost manic pitch in his step. "Take me to her."

She was back in the jeans and sweater she'd worn this morning when they'd hauled her off to the Federal holding facility, (had it really been this morning? It felt like an eternity ago), and was sitting in the darkened loft, alone, waiting for Castle. No one knew where he'd gone, and she was starting to worry. What if Simmons had gotten to him before the Feds had picked him up? What if he were lying dead in an ally somewhere? Or, dropped over a bridge into the Hudson river? Her eyebrows tugged together and she glanced out the long window of his expansive loft, pacing the floor like a caged lioness.

She was about to call in a search party when she heard his key slip into the lock and she raced to meet him, the tears flowing freely down her cheek as her legs carried her to the front door. She didn't care, didn't care if he saw them, didn't care if it made her seem weak, or afraid, or overly emotional, she just needed him.

As soon as he stepped into the apartment, she flew at him, forcing him backwards against the door, her arms coiled tightly around his neck, her lips pressed against his in a furious, rageful kiss.

He was just as glad to see her, holding her tightly around the waist, gentle whimpers vibrating from his throat as he kissed her back, murmuring her name, over and over, as though it were a Gregorian chant.

"Kate, God. I was so worried, I..." his choked sobs cut off his words and he buried his face in her neck. "I love you so much, I thought I'd lost you."

She couldn't speak, could only hide her face, her tears, let him hold her as her own sobs trembled through her, racking her slender frame. She was getting his neck and collar wet with tears, snot and saliva, but she didn't care, and neither it seemed, did he. They were together. And Bracken was gone, out of their lives, rotting in hell, for good.

"It's over, Castle." She finally mumbled against the solid plane of his chest. "It's finally over."

He smiled down at her, wiping away her mascara coated tears. "You're free now. Of Bracken, of Simmons. You're free. We're free," he clarified.

She stepped back, wiping her face with the tips of her fingers, her bloodshot eyes meeting his haunted gaze. "God, Castle. I don't know what to do, I don't know if I should celebrate, or mourn, or cry, or what?"

"How about we eat then? And drink. I have a $200 bottle of red that needs to be opened. I've been saving it for a special occasion. I think this qualifies, don't you?"

She smiled up at him, nodding, tears still spilling down her cheeks as she looked into his sinfully delicious face. His face that, for a few brief tense moments as she walked down that basement corridor with the mustached prison guard, she thought she'd never see again.

Instead of leading her to some back room where he would kill her, or rape her and then kill her, Mustache-Man led her into a windowless room where her lawyer was waiting with a clear plastic bag filled with her belongings in hand, who then happily explained to Kate that she was being released. I'm here to take you home, Detective Beckett. The Feds have arrested Vulcan Simmons.

"That sounds lovely," she replied. She followed him to the kitchen where he opened the wine cabinet and took out the bottle. She held out two glasses, he poured, and then they hoisted their glasses to offer a toast.

"To the future, Kate Beckett, because it's wide and open and free."

They clinked glasses. "To our future, Castle. Yours and mine. Together." They each took a sip of the robust wine and smiled, gazing into each others faces as though they'd been apart for twelve years instead of twelve hours.

"What would you like for dinner?" He asked, setting his glass down and opening the fridge. "I'll make you whatever you like." He pointed inside the cavernous refrigerator. "Er, for which I have the ingredients," he clarified.

She took another sip, relishing the slow burn as the crimson liquid slid down her throat and warmed her chest. "Anything, Castle," she offered, hiking herself onto one of the kitchen stools, and then suddenly changing her mind. "Except broccoli!" She shuddered, it would be a long time before she'd be able to eat that particular vegetable again. She took another grateful sip of her wine, watching with narrowed eyes as he pulled out eggs, onions, and a green pepper, and then reaching into a nearby cabinet for chocolate and marshmallows. "Or," she added, hopping off the stool and rounding the corner to smack him in the ass, "a smorlette!"

He looked wounded, his shoulders slumping, but then he reached around her and pulled out a white-wrapped package from the refrigerator. "Fine," he agreed, "Steak it is, then." He gave her a quick kiss, waggling his eyebrows. "And for dessert," he kissed her again . "Me."

She smiled, pulling him closer, trapping his bottom lip between the dangerous ridge of her teeth. "Mmmm," she hummed, "...what do you say we start with dessert, then, huh?" She reached for his hand, and with a wink of her eye, led him towards the bedroom.

And, she hoped, towards their 'happily ever after.'

The End.

A/N: I apologize for the length of this story, but I really thought breaking it up into chapters would ruin the intensity, the flow, of what I was trying to convey. So, I took a chance and kept it as a one-shot. I truly hope that paid off for all of you that took the time to read it. If you read it in shifts, I wouldn't blame you. :-)