A/N This idea wouldn't leave me alone - I originally wrote is as part of a challenge, then forgot about it so I missed the deadline. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Castle or anything related to Andrew Marlowe.

Kevin Ryan steps out of the elevator and lets out the breath he doesn't know he's been holding. It's not as busy as he would have expected - you would have thought Homicide had better things to do than sit around playing Free Cell. The box in his arms reminds him of its weight, and he moves towards the cluster of desks.

"You lost?"

Ryan turns to see a guy watching him carefully. Reasonably young, thick arms, wearing guarded curiosity like a shield.

"Are you lost?" he repeats. Ryan attempts a smile but it's lost among the nervous cough that leaves his throat.

"I'm, uh, I'm looking for a..." He tries to juggle his box into the other arm but gives up. He sets it down on the desk beside him, and checks the scrap of paper in his hand, "Detective Kate Beckett?"

The other guy is still for a moment, then warily extends a hand. "Javier Esposito. Beckett's in Interrogation. She'll be out in a minute."

They shake, fully aware that they are both sizing the other up.

"So..." Ryan says slowly, shifting, "How long have you been in Homicide?"

"This is my third year. Third workin' with Beckett too."

So the two of them are close. Ryan wonders how close.

"Yo, Beckett!"

Ryan doesn't know what he is expecting, but Detective Beckett is definitely not it. The first thing he notices is that she's tall. Taller than him, at least. The second and third things are noticed simultaneously - Kate Beckett takes no crap, and Kate Beckett is dangerously beautiful.

He stares for too long, because she clears her throat impatiently. He blinks, frowning at Esposito's barely concealed amusement. "Uh, what?"

"I said," she repeats slowly - great, he thinks, she already thinks he's a moron, "This is my desk."

Evidently out of bounds, so Ryan hastily picks up his box. "Oh, yeah, sorry. I'm Kevin Ryan. Transfer from the 24th?"

Realization and recognition clear the frown from her face.

"Right. Well, I hope you don't mind," she says. The way she says it tells him he doesn't have a choice, "A case just came in. Two dead in an apartment off Broadway." She's already pulling on her coat and moving towards the elevator.

"Where, uh, where can I put my...?" Beckett shoots him a look, then turns pointedly towards the empty desk a few feet away. Ryan mentally slaps a palm to his face. Yep, definitely a moron.

"Espo, Lanie's meeting us there. And I need a 10-4 on Montgomery, tell him I'll call when I know more."

Ryan doesn't know if she's expecting an answer, but Beckett is halfway out before Esposito shouts a reply. He clears his throat. "Hey, she always like this?"

Esposito grins. "Most of the time she's worse."

Ryan swallows hard. He's not cut out for this. He's not cut out for the frantic, for the rush. He's not cut out for Beckett.

"Hey, Ryan," she calls, caught somewhere between frustration and amusement, "You coming?"

He nods quickly, jogs the few steps to catch them up.

"Yeah."

Maybe Homicide won't be that bad.