A/N- Set anywhere after 4x12 (Dial M for Mayor) with minor references to episodes prior to that. No major spoilers but having seen Season 4 is pretty much essential (although I imagine everyone here that isn't in the US has managed to figure out a way to download season 4 online!)

I don't know what TPTB have in mind for Esplanie but I have them tentatively making inroads on a relationship again. It's background only, but that's where my head's at.

This story is unfinished but I am working at it and plan for updates to be frequent-ish! I am very open to feedback. I generally only ever manage to finish short stories and my attempts at longer fics lay languishing on my hard drive to this day ;p This is much longer (and so much slower!) than the other two stories I posted last week and I am enjoying the challenge of writing and pacing something with more depth.

This is my attempt at telling a story not unlike what we see on the show with a couple of cases, some character development, and bit of banter with the whole team... but with the added bonus of kissage and, eventually, nakedness ;) i promise! *snort*

Feedback (so long as it's respectful) to help me improve my writing and story-telling skills would be cherished immensely!

Huge thanks to Madsthenerdygirl for her comments and contribution, and for making this even more fun.

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Keep Showing Up

Beckett tightened her grip on her glock and dove for cover. The barking retort of gunfire echoed in the warehouse and shards of concrete rained down on her. With her head pressed low to the ground she shuffled quickly forward. Her cover was little more than a series of steel girders stacked two foot high. If Beard-Man moved from the safety of his minivan at all he'd have a clear shot.

"Castle?" She knew drawing attention to her position was not the smartest move but the suspect firing on her was not her only concern. Beard-Man had initially had two bodyguards and she'd lost sight of them both. And her partner.

A scuff and muffled cursing from behind a stack of wooden pallets had her flipping onto her side, back pressed into the cold metal of the girders, her glock extended.

A single muted shot –a silencer, Muscle-Man Number One– was followed by a ting as the bullet ricocheted. A girly squeal and a solid "oof" told her who was behind the pallets but not if he were okay.

"Castle?" she called again.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" somehow he managed to make it sound like he was keeping her from burger night at Remy's instead of the slightly more serious situation they currently found themselves in

She could hear him moving closer. His grunting and shuffling coming to a stop a few yards away and she assumed he had found more solid cover behind something beyond the pallets. "Are you alright?"

"Just peachy. Although I think my jacket has seen better days."

Beckett fought the urge to roll her eyes. She also fought the urge to crawl across the open space between their respective hiding places to check for herself.

Risking a peek back towards Beard-Man, the minivan, and the large open roller door that was the only known exit to the warehouse Beckett tried to get a position on the three men. "Can you see anything from back there?" she whispered.

"The hairy Italian is perfectly silhouetted by a skylight. If I had a gun this would be all over by now."

"If you had a gun we'd probably be in even more trouble."

"Ah, Detective, I seem to recall a number of occasions where you've been very appreciative of my skills with a gun."

"Let's not start that again." Her voice betrayed her amusement and she both cursed, and praised, his ability to make her laugh even in the most unfunny of situations.

The banging of a car door startled her. Beard-Man was clearly planning to make a run for it. She had the plate details burned into her brain but there was no way she was letting him get out. He was a bad shot, the weakest of three. She could sit up and take him out before he'd even have a chance to aim at her... but his goons would be on her in an instant.

"Beckett!" Castle's voice was serious now, "my guy's gonna bail! Get over here!"

Castle's head appeared, just for an instant, around the corner of the pallets before he disappeared again. An instant later he peered back around, taking a slower look now that he had assured himself he was in no immediate danger. His gaze flicked from Kate to their suspect, a good fifty yards away, and then back over his shoulder.

"You can't stand up," he stated the obvious, "But if you can swing your legs towards me I have an idea."

"What kind of idea?"

"Just do it!" he glared at her now. "Hairy Italian is over by that pile of chicken feathers we saw. Aim high. He's on some kind of railing." Castle looked behind himself again.

Having rotated her body around so that she now faced away from the van and exit, her feet, probably visible to Beard-Man by now should he care to look, were pointed directly at Castle. A knot of tension curled in Beckett's belly. His plans were known for going very well of very badly.

"On three," he said, crouching low.

"What's on three?" she snapped at him.

"One."

"Two."

"Three." Hunched low, Castle lunged forward crossing the four yards of open space between them; he extended his arms keeping his body as far out of sight as possible. He grabbed Beckett's ankles and dragged her flat on her back across the concrete. She tilted her hips to put her weight on her back allowing her vest to reduce the friction. Her shirt rode up and she was doubly glad for her vest. The movement must have attracted Beard-Man's attention; Beckett was peripherally aware of his shout, but her focus was split between Castle and the, now visible, Hairy Italian Muscle-Man Number One.

Clenching her stomach muscles and holding her arms straight out and up she tried to take aim at the very badly concealed gunman. His attention was turned to his boss, looking for the reason for his shout, and she wouldn't get a better shot. But Castle kept on dragging her. She kicked out at him to get him to let go. He dropped her feet and crawled another yard to throw his back against a metal lockbox.

The scar across her ribs pulled sharply as she tilted and braced her body for the shot. Lying out in the open as she was she'd only get one chance. A quick trigger squeeze saw the suspect's torso spin as red blossomed across his chest. His feet rolled from the railing and, spinning, he fell to the concrete floor with a sickening thud.

A furious shout and a crash of glass pulled her attention further back into the depths of the storage area. She moved to roll to her feet and her breath left her body. Her left hand found its way unconsciously to her side and she grit her teeth refusing to give voice to the sharp pain. Then a hand was at her shoulder, another at her wrist, as Castle stepped over her and pulled her to her feet. He didn't stop to look at her; he didn't ask if she were alright, he just propelled them both behind the pallets and towards the minivan.

"Scary Old Guy is in the back," he whispered.

Beckett heard the banging and crashing of who-knew-what coming from the poorly lit bay well behind them. They shuffled together along the line of flimsy wooden pallets with Castle pressed tight against her back.

"You want to get the guy at the van first? You think that's Davis? Or take out the muscle?"

"Take out the muscle? Really, Castle?" Beckett stopped and turned to face her partner, one eyebrow raised. "That's what your literary genius came up with?"

With his chest rigid against her back and shoulder, and their faces far too close together, he apologised with a smile, "Sorry, having trouble thinking clearly, what with the gunfire and mad rush to save your life and all."

"I want to take him in," she gestured towards the van, "Where the hell are Ryan and Esposito!"

The sound of the engine roaring to life had them around the pallets and crossing the open warehouse floor in an instant. Tyres squealed and three quick shots echoed as Beckett took aim. A popping sound followed by the slapping of rubber was audible over the sound of the van's brief acceleration.

Running towards sunlight the detective and her partner rounded the door in time to see a familiar Crown Vic skid sideways and Esposito levelling his gun out the window. Shredded tyres skidded on gravel and the van came to a stop.

Trusting in the other detectives to take care of that particular problem Beckett flattened the palm of her left hand on Castle's chest and pushed him back into the warehouse. He backed up a couple of steps, startled at the sudden change of direction, before turning to follow his muse. She ran straight for the store room now, not bothering to conceal her movements. The loud crashing from scant minutes before had stopped and Castle searched frantically in the semi-darkness for their man. Beckett ran unerringly to the rear; she must have known something he didn't.

She didn't pause when they crossed the space where the Italian lay. She kicked the fallen pistol away from the body with her foot and kept running. Castle cursed. He could have used that!

A flick of orange reflected off shattered glass and they both became aware of the heat and whoosh-pop of a well-started fire. Beckett flattened out against the wall and Castle joined her. She met his gaze, her face tight, and with nothing more than eye movements and a small shake of her head said 'I'll go in. You stay here. Watch my back.'

She didn't wait for a reply. Spinning into the room, knees bent, arms braced Weaver-style, she moved in. Castle slid immediately to the corner and peered around; he allowed himself a quick glance in her direction before his eyes skittered around them taking in the rest of warehouse. He didn't take the silent command to watch her back lightly.

A call of, "NYPD! Don't move!" had him rushing in to follow her. Scary Old Guy lay slumped over a pile of blankets, panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Beckett noted the proximity of his weapon and the glazed look in his eyes. Smoke inhalation? Heart attack? Either way she moved on him, flipping him over and shackling his wrists in one smooth well-practiced movement.

Digging her phone from her pocket one-handed she pressed the speed dial for dispatch and requested an ambulance and fire crew. Her glock remained comfortingly in her grip as she scanned the store room noting the fire's progress and alert to any danger. Castle had dragged a blanket from the side wall and was flapping, ineffectually, at the edges of the fire.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

"I'm not sure!" she would have laughed if her heart were not beating so fast. "You do know that there's a fire extinguisher behind you, right?"

"What?" he turned to look, "Damn it, woman!" he cursed and dropped the blanket. Tearing the large extinguisher off its hook and pulling the pin he sprayed white foam back and forth over the fire. He kept it up, moving further along the line of shelves, until the room stank of smoke and phosphate and the air hung heavy around them.

Sheathing her gun Beckett moved behind their suspect. Laying half conscious, his lips tinged blue; he looked more 'Old Guy' than 'Scary'. Linking her hands under his arms and around his chest she anchored her own weight and dragged him towards the door. The dusty concrete floor made for very little friction and he slid easily enough across the ground. His struggles were barely for show and he slumped against her legs when she came to a halt at the corner.

Patches of smoldering cardboard still lay smoking when the fire extinguisher spluttered the last of its foam. Only the odd flash of orange flame was still visible amongst the blanket of white and grey and black. Castle dropped the empty red bottle. The FDNY would take care of the rest.

"You think any of this is evidence?" he asked, his breath coming in short gasps.

"We'll need Crime Scene to catalogue it. We might get something."

Castle took in her position at the door more fully; the elderly man propped half upright and leaning against her lower legs, and he rushed to help. Slipping his arms in under hers and neatly replacing her body with his own he took the man's weight and continued to drag him towards the front of the warehouse.

She nodded her thanks and followed them out. A call of "Beckett?" from outside had her stepping past him.

"Back here, Ryan." She answered.

"Is Castle with you?"

"Yeah. We've got one injured," she glanced back to where she knew their other suspect lay, "And one dead."

Footsteps echoed as the detective moved to join them. Once they cleared the warehouse Castle lay their suspect on the ground. He took off his jacket and, twisting it into a rough bundle, poked it under his head.

He caught Ryan's questioning look, "The jacket is ruined anyway," Castle said, as if that explained his actions.

"I've got a bus coming." Beckett informed them both. "Espo alright with the other guy?" she asked, looking towards the man in question where he stood, leaning casually against the police car, arms folded.

"Yeah, he didn't struggle. Much." Ryan almost smiled.

The clean-cut detective gave Beckett and Castle a once over. "Although, you guys, you both look like someone put up a struggle."

Beckett looked at the tear along Castle's purple shirt. It was one of her favourites. She hoped he bought a similar one to replace it. His hair stood up in all directions, black soot and flecks of white foam clung like macabre snowflakes. She noticed a small gash on his wrist, the surrounding skin already purpling.

"What happened?" she asked, nodding to his hand.

"Someone kicked me." He said, his voice far too cheerful.

She met his eyes to assess his humour and relaxed at what she saw; they were both okay. "You should have let go sooner," she smirked.

"What? And miss the show? Not a chance." Turning away so he couldn't see her face she made a show of looking for the paramedics. "Your wardrobe didn't fare much better, I'm afraid." Castle continued, stepping closer. She felt the brush of his hand at her back and looked over her shoulder.

"We'll have to go shopping." She joked.

"Why, Detective, I think I'd enjoy that very much."

"I was joking, Castle."

"Hmmm." His response sounded far less like an agreement and far too much like the issuing of a challenge.

###

Stepping off the elevator Castle quickly skimmed the precinct and, spotting his partner at her desk, quickened his step.

"You didn't go home and change?" Castle asked as soon as he was close enough to speak without being overheard. He placed a paper bag on the corner of her desk and, taking one coffee from its cardboard tray, handed it over.

"Some of us had paperwork to do first."

"Ah, paperwork." He removed his own coffee and tossed the cardboard tray into the trash can across the hall. He settled onto the edge of the desk next to her and glanced up at the additions to the murder board.

The scent of his shower gel and shampoo swirled and settled around her. Beckett's eyes darted across to him against her will. His hair was still damp at the nape of his neck, curling more than usual. He caught her looking, and she turned away to cover her embarrassment.

"So, that was Davis at the warehouse?" He asked in the silence that followed.

"Yeah. Esposito and I took a run at him while you were home showering." She couldn't resist having a dig. "The boys are up at hospital now waiting for the other guy to be well enough to interview."

"Davis give anything up?"

"He's guilty, but he's not cracking."

"And the stuff in the boxes?" he studied the board. They now had photos of their three suspects and a series of notes in Beckett's neat handwriting that flowed below them.

"Still waiting on forensics. Lanie has Hairy Italian, Guglielmo Conti, in the morgue. She found blood under his fingernails and some interesting particulates in the tread of his sneakers."

Castle fought to keep up past the throaty sound of anything Italian rolling over Beckett's tongue. He wished he'd been watching her mouth when she'd said it. Could he ask her to say it again? No, that'd probably be weird. Blood under his fingernails?

"Blood?" he turned to look at her, his attention back on the case.

"Under Guglielmo Conti's fingernails, yeah. Lanie is trying to match them to Luisa now."

Oh, thank you, God. His gaze remained fixed on her mouth for a moment longer with the image of her tongue brushing the back of her teeth burned in his mind, "Sorry, did you say it was a match to Luisa?" She'd lost him again.

"What? No. Lanie's just got the samples now. She'll call with results." She stared at him, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just hungry." He grabbed the paper bag he'd left on the corner of the desk and proceeded to clear a space between them where they could eat and he could catch up on the detective work that had been done in his absence.

"What'd you get?" Beckett asked, leaning over to see.

"Lasagne. Alexis was cooking dinner when I went home. I stole some for you."

Opening the warm tupperware container Beckett inhaled, "Oh. My. God. This smells incredible."

"I know!" Castle's grin was huge. "She makes the best lasagne!"

He passed over cutlery and snagged himself a container from the bag. Settling on the edge of the desk he forced himself to read through the notes instead of watching his partner devour her dinner.

Davis' alibi was flimsy. He'd been seen arguing with the victim the day before. They had the van on traffic cameras only a block away from the crime scene. They needed motive...

Did she just moan?

Castle forced himself to swallow his mouthful and took a sip of coffee. "If we get this wrapped up in time you should come back to the loft for a proper dinner. Alexis made two trays." He could feel her teetering on the edge "I know the perfect bottle of cabernet to go with it."

"We'll see what we get out of the other bodyguard first. I want a confession on this one."

It was almost a yes.

###

They heard Esposito's voice before they saw them round the corner, "Dude, even for you that's lame. Lame, Bro!"

Ryan shook his head and his eyes screamed 'back me up!' as he looked between Castle and Beckett for support.

"I don't even want to know," was Beckett's reply. "How'd you go at the hospital?"

"What's this?" Esposito gestured towards the all-but-empty containers of lasagne.

"Castle bought food from home."

"Where's ours?" Ryan asked, sounding genuinely offended.

"Sorry, guys, there wasn't enough." He flinched when Beckett kicked his shin, "What? There wasn't! She hadn't put the second tray on yet!"

"The hospital, Espo! What did you get?" Beckett licked her fork and then dropped container and utensil back in the bag. She grabbed a serviette and wiped her hands, her focus on the manila folder in Javier's hands.

"Joe Santoro. He crumbled. The old man has family to support and he's not interested in going down with Davis. He's copped to destroying evidence but claims he doesn't know what it was that Davis ordered burnt. Says he wasn't around when Davis last met with Luisa, but that his partner was, and things got nasty. And," he paused to make sure he had their attention, "He said to go at Davis with the university angle. Says he's got more to hide than just Luisa Baker's death." His eyebrow rose and he smirked suggestively.

"Nice work." Beckett looked at her watch, "Six o'clock. Castle, you want to run past the University now? Should still be faculty around?"

"You want to know more before you have another go at Davis?"

"Don't I always?" she grabbed her coat and waited for Castle to catch up.