Six Impossible Things, Chapter 12 (Castle Fic)

[pollylynn]

A/N: Again, if only Castle and Beckett would have themselves, like, surgically grafted to one another, it'd be soooo easy to write. Poor Castle kind of gets pwned by Lanie and Beckett in rapid succession here, but Beckett!Smooches have our wordsmith a little off his game. Worth the price of admission, I'm sure.

Thank you all a thousand times for reading and keeping the alerts and favorites and reviews coming.


Castle smiled to himself, his heart speeding up a bit in anticipation. He tucked his phone away and turned to find Lanie standing just inches from him.

Her arms were folded across her chest. She was holding . . . well, he wasn't sure what she was holding, but it looked dangerous as it casually dangled from one hand. She had that look on her face-the one that still made Esposito break out into a cold sweat. Castle's heart began to pound in earnest.

"What happened?"

"What . . . what? You mean about Audra Winnert?" Castle tried for a look somewhere between hopeful and innocent.

"No, Castle, I do not mean about Audra Winnert," her voice was dead calm.

"Then I," he instinctively backed away from her, straight into an instrument tray, "am not sure to what you are referring."

Her body didn't move an inch. She simply followed him with her eyes, "Don't play with me, Castle."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Lan . . . Dr. Parish. I just . . . there's a lot going on. Some clarification . . ."

"Hiiiiiiiiiii," Lanie clasped her hands under one ear and fluttered her eyelashes. Somehow, this did not make whatever implement of death she was holding look any less dangerous.

A look of horror crept on to his face, "Good God, tell me I don't sound like that."

"I was being kind."

"Uggghhh, I hate myself," he slumped against the counter, "I just have no . . . she just . . . I feel like I'm 16 years old!"

"Isn't that a good thing?" she asked.

"No!" he looked disgusted, "I wouldn't be 16 again for the world."

"You're stalling, Castle. What. happened?" she gave him a look that said Don't make me give you the look again.

Castle took a deep breath, "Lanie, you know that Beckett is a very private person, and I feel like I need to respect . . ."

"Oh my God, you finally did it!"

"What? No! I . . . kissed her . . . she kissed me . . . we kissed!" he slapped both hands over his mouth as his voice filled the lab and reverberated back.

Lanie's head dropped back and she let out a belly laugh. It went on long enough that Castle went from being filled with self-loathing to taking offense.

"What's so funny?"

"You," Lanie wiped her eyes, "The two of you! You kissed and you're all starry-eyed and 'hiiiii' . . . oh, don't you glare at me, Castle. I have been on girlfriend call for 4 years. I have peeled her off the ceiling and let her cry on my shoulder and now I get to laugh."

"Cry? There was crying? Over me?" he didn't know whether to be hopeful or appalled.

"It was a metaphor. Except for the sangria incident 2 summers ago," she stared him down, "and that is all I have to say about that."

"Yeah, but . . . "

"That's all, Castle," she held up a hand. "She admit it?"

"Admit what?" Castle looked startled.

"That it happened," Lanie looked at him like he was mentally challenged.

"We haven't had a chance to talk about it, really."

She rolled her eyes, "Here we go. Again."

"Again? Wait. We . . . I told her that we weren't not going to talk about it this time and she said okay," he knew before he finished that he'd been tricked.

"This time. So there's a 'that other time' time. I knew it."

"You are diabolical!"

"No, I'm good. And a little diabolical," Lanie smirked, "so spill."

"It wasn't even a real . . ." he said quickly, "I mean . . . it was just a . . . Wait.How did you know?"

"You first."

"We needed a distraction. To get Esposito and Ryan back when Lockwood grabbed them," he wanted to stop talking. He really did. But that look, "We were pretending to be stumbling drunk, the lookout wasn't buying it. Beckett went for her gun, but I figured our odds were better with the element of surprise, so I stopped her . . ."

"You stopped Beckett-Kate Beckett-from drawing her gun. By kissing her," Lanie looked entirely delighted.

Castle knew he was in trouble, but he wasn't exactly sure how, "But you said 'again' and 'this time.' You said you knew!"

"Just because I don't do interrogations doesn't mean I can't, Castle," she smiled sweetly. "So what about this time?"

"I fell asleep on her couch," he said weakly.

"And she jumped you? Good for her! 'Bout damn time."

"No, I . . . I woke up, and I guess I must've made a sound. I've had this writer's block for weeks, and . . ."

"Castle, Beckett is going to walk through that door in the next five minutes, and before she does, I will have details. Stay on topic," Lanie casually put down the tool she'd been holding and inspected its fellows on the tray.

"I woke up and she was, like right there and I needed something to write with," he stammered.

"Castle!"

"I'm trying to tell you! She'd stolen my pencil earlier to do that thing. The twisty, chopstick thing women do with their hair sometimes. So I pulled the pencil out of her hair," he shrugged desperately, "and it just seemed rude not to . . . I mean her lips were right there!"

"You said she kissed you," Lanie narrowed her eyes.

"She did," Castle nodded as though reassuring himself that it had really happened. "I . . . was going to say . . . I don't know what I was going to say, because that's what she does to me. To me! I don't know what to say!"

"And she kissed you," she nodded somberly. "That's a good sign."

"You think so? I mean it's better than many of the alternatives I've imagined, though not as good as some . . ."

Lanie made a sharp gesture with her hand and pivoted toward the doors as they swung open, "Kate!"

"Castle, I'm going to ask questions and you're going to answer in as few words as possible," Beckett stood in front of the doors as though she expected him to run.

"Beckett, hi," Castle gave a small wave and died inside a little. Again.

"Castle!"

"Sorry," he pressed his lips together and waited.

She watched him until she was reasonably satisfied that he'd comply, "Ok. The phone call: I assume she didn't say where she was?"

He waited.

"Castle?"

"That was more of a statement . . ."

"Castle!" she took a step toward him.

He took one to the side to put the autopsy table between them.

"No. She didn't. She's hiding, but she didn't say where," he looked like he wanted to add more but wasn't sure whether to risk it.

"Anything you noticed that might help narrow it down?" Beckett's look warned him not to embellish.

"Somewhere secluded and off the grid," he winced at her warning look. "She was waiting for a call-I assume from Edith Carter-and when it didn't come, she said she found a newspaper, so I assume she's staying offline. When she made the call, she was afraid someone had spotted 'them'."

"So she's got a hidey hole but one that's close enough to pick up a newspaper," Lanie looked thoughtful. "Why make the call in public?"

"She was upset," Castle said, "maybe just an impulse."

"Maybe," Beckett admitted, "or she didn't want to make the call from where she was actually hiding."

Castle nodded, "She's not using her cell phone any more. Caller ID was blocked."

"Let's hope she was just using *67 and not anything fancier," Beckett exhaled through her teeth.

"Is that even likely?" Lanie looked skeptical, "That Ms. Fairy Tale Princess is like . . . a master of evasion?"

"Can't sell her short. She's tech savvy, managed to fly below radar for years in a pretty exclusive circle . . ." Castle's head snapped toward Beckett.

"Her collection," she smiled, "that'd leave a money trail."

"And an identity she's comfortable using."

Beckett's smile widened, "She was sending all those auction pieces somewhere. Might be a place she'd hide."

"Johnson, you're back," Ryan greeted the uniform approaching his desk. "Canvas turn up anything?"

"Coffee shop. Half a mile northeast of Beckett's place," Johnson dropped a take-out menu on the desk. "Nothing concrete. Place was busy. Assistant manager can't say what time she arrived, but she confirms that Edith Carter was there, alone, at 5:30 and gone by 5:55. Not much to go on."

"Better than nothing," Ryan shrugged, "and it helps prioritize surveillance footage. Gives us a probable route she walked."

"I thought of that," Johnson said eagerly, pulling out his smart phone. "Not a lot of NYPD eyes in the area, but the flags on this map show the locations of ATMs and convenience stores along the shortest walking route to Beckett's apartment."

"That helps," he punched the address of the coffee shop into his browser to replicate the map. "Nice work, Johnson. Do me a favor and drop by the media room. Give those locations to Muñoz. Tell him to bump those feeds to the top of the list."

The officer nodded and headed out. Ryan turned back to his monitor. A new email had popped up. He clicked it open and scanned the message.

"Yes!" he spun his chair to face Esposito.

His partner scowled and covered the mouthpiece of his desk phone, "You finally got something?"

"Good news, bad news," Ryan slapped out a rhythm on the edge of Esposito's desk. "Barnes made a bunch of calls to the same number, starting around 6 pm the night before the murder, last one 1:46 AM morning of."

"Do I have any choice?" Esposito snapped into the receiver then covered the mouthpiece again. "About an hour before the murder. Bad news?"

"Number belongs to a pay-as-you-go. Bought with cash," Ryan said, "but guess where the handset belonging to that number was when Barnes was calling it?"

"Somewhere useful?"

"In the neighborhood of 86th and Central Park West," he smiled, "right into the wee hours of the morning."

"Near the castle. Nice!" Esposito held up a hand. "Yeah I'm here."

Ryan trotted over to the murder board and made some notes under the picture of Len Barnes.

"Yeah, I get it," Esposito snapped and hung up the phone, "Audra Winnert is still in the state. Or was when she called Castle."

"That's . . . vague."

"Wide open spaces and crappy cell coverage," Esposito gestured to the map he'd pulled up on his monitor, "somewhere in between Tarrytown and Westchester."

Ryan peered over his shoulder, "Why would she come into the city, then head back toward home, but not go home?"

"Could've been dropping off the housekeeper in the city, could've been meeting up with Barnes," Esposito shoved his notepad across his desk, "Could've been picking up tickets to Cats."

"What's this?" Ryan pointed to a series of numbers across the top of the pad.

"Burner cell phone she called Castle from, why?"

"That's familiar," Ryan moved to his own desk and pulled up the window with Barnes' phone records. He copied a number on to the pad, "Check it out. That's the number Barnes was calling the night of the murder. They're the same except for the last number."

"Hell of a coincidence," Esposito slapped the pad, "Probably bought from the same vendor at the same time."

"Another connection between Barnes and the bride?"

"Yeah, but Barnes wasn't calling her that night," Esposito pointed to the murder board. "She was at some run-up to the wedding event most of the night. People, media. She wasn't in Central Park."

"Not like she'd be the hands-on type if she did it, right? Maybe Barnes was her go-between," Ryan mimed a gun with his fingers, "gave the order."

"Maybe," Esposito picked up a marker and added some notes to the board. "Why kill him there, though? Especially if it's a contract job, not some love-makes-you-crazy deal."

"Yeah . . . why not make him disappear?"

"All we know for sure is we've got Barnes calling the park the night of the murder, and at least two connections between Audra Winnert and the sleazy PI."

"Hang on a minute," Ryan's desk phone rang, "Ryan."

Esposito snagged the marker from Ryan's desk and stepped over to the board. He drew two dotted line connecting Barnes and Audra Winnert.

"You sure?" Ryan asked the person on the other end of the phone, "No, that's great, Muñoz. Send me the clips."

"What's up?"

"Make that three connections," Ryan pointed to the board, "Barnes shows up on 3 security cameras each time about 60 seconds after Edith Carter.

"He was with the housekeeper?"

"Not with her. Following her."

"Coulda been keeping eyes on her," Esposito didn't even sound like he was convincing himself.

"Or, he could be the one who attacked her," Ryan craned his neck toward the elevator.

"What're you looking for?" Esposito followed his glance.

"Beckett," Ryan said, "Seems like something she should break to the Captain."

"It's still kind of a reach," Beckett's long strides ate up the sidewalk in chunks.

Deja vu, thought Castle as he trotted to keep up, "Not really. Reed's the only person who knew Grayson at all. The only person who spent a considerable amount of time with him. Hell, the only person who spent any time with him."

"You're right, and we'll follow up on it," she shook her head, "I'll just have to think of something other than your mother's gaydar to tell Gates to justify the leg work."

"Well, think about it: If Audra Winnert did create Philip Grayson, it kind of makes sense. No possibility of romantic entanglements. Strictly a business relationship," he trailed off as she threw him an odd look over her shoulder.

"Yeah, no complications there."

"You don't really think she did it, do you? I mean, how does it make sense?" Castle knew where she was going next and headed her off at the pass, "Even if you don't buy my mother's take on their relationship."

"Maybe he was backing out of the deal," she said shortly.

"She's not the Godfather, Beckett," he shot back, "Why kill him? And like that?"

"No, Castle, she's almost 30. She builds a castle to have the wedding she dreamed of when she was still in a training bra, and she literally makes a prince to order. I don't know what her playbook looks like."

"Ok, I get it. You're frustrated," he said little more gently, "and we need to find her regardless. So we focus on that."

"Wedding planner did say they worked well together," Beckett admitted with a sigh, "and jealousy's a pretty weak motive if it was a business arrangement."

Castle smiled. She envied him his ability to bounce back so quickly.

"So you'll bring Reed back in, and I can play rich, impulsive collector," he sounded a little too excited by the prospect. "Too bad you can't come with me. You could be my pretty, pretty princess who just has to have her authentic gewgaws."

"Gewgaws? Is that even a word?"

"Thirteenth century, but brought into common English usage by Samuel Richardson, author of Pamela, the first example of that little medium we call . . . the novel," Castle replied with a flourish.

Beckett rolled her eyes and picked up the pace, "I know how you love to roleplay, Castle, but we'll get a warrant for the auction records."

"What? That'll take forever! And they'll get all snooty and 'I'm sorry, Detective, we must protect the confidentiality of our clientele'," he was practically jogging now.

"She's a missing person and we've got a pretty good case that we need those records to find her."

"Pretty good?" he sounded offended, ""This is exactly the kind of thing that calls for millionaire playboy Richard Castle."

"I'm playing it by the book, playboy," she called over her shoulder.

Castle paused a moment and stared after her, confused, as she approached the crosswalk, "Beckett, are you . . . annoyed with me?"

"More than usual?" she certainly looked annoyed at having to wait for the traffic light to change.

"Kate," he stepped up next to her, "don't do that. If I pissed you off, tell me how."

Beckett looked off into the distance, "I'm not annoyed . . . . I've got Gates crawling up my ass and I don't want . . ."

"You don't want what?" he stiffened.

"Look, Castle," she made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat, "I can get the warrant."

"Of course you can get the warrant," he gave her an incredulous look, "but getting the warrant takes time, and there's no reason in the world for me not to dust off my public persona and get a head start."

"I don't want your persona screwing around with my case,Castle!" she practically shouted as she strode out into the intersection.

Castle gaped a moment then lunged and caught her arm. She looked him dead in the eye and in that moment he was certain that if the street weren't crowded and her shield weren't visible on her belt, she'd have decked him. Fair enough, he thought. He looked around and set off, her arm still in his grasp, for the nearest decently isolated spot.

It turned out to be a seedy convenience store. Castle nodded to the bored cashier and hauled Beckett to the frozen foods at the back corner of the store.

"What are you doing, Castle?" she hissed, finally pulling her arm free.

"Is this about . . ." he glanced around. There were maybe 3 other shoppers total, but he still wasn't about to push his luck any further, "what happened yesterday?"

"Oh, get over yourself," she snapped.

"I'm serious, Kate," he looked her in the eye. "You're suddenly uncomfortable with me doing the kind of thing I've done a dozen times on a dozen cases, and as far as I know only one thing has changed."

"You want to talk about this now? By the frozen peas!"

"Yes, I do," he was feeling more ridiculous by the second, but refused to give in to his embarrassment. Or hers, "because this is important and I'm not going to let the misunderstandings pile up until one of us leaves town. Not this time."

Beckett blinked and flinched back, "No one's . . . no one's leaving, Castle."

"Good," he touched her shoulder hesitantly, then, feeling bolder for no apparent reason, he brushed a lock of hair off her cheek and eased it behind her ear, "good. So tell me what's up."

"Nothing," she shook her head, "nothing. I'm . . . you're right. You've done this a dozen times before. And it makes sense for you to get a head start, like you said."

"Ok, good," he smiled, "but I'm not just trying to get my way here. Tell me what's making you uncomfortable."

"I just don't want people to see that's something's going on between us and think you're . . . doing me favors," she rolled her eyes at her own vague unease.

Castle nodded, "I get that. Believe me, I think this case, more than ever, has opened my eyes to the bullshit that you shouldn't have to deal with to do your job. And I know that with Gates around, I contribute to that more than I'd like, but . . ." this time, he was the one to back away a step before continuing, "isn't it possible that you're overcompensating?"

She snorted, "Who, me? Like I ever do that!"

"It really is no different from the kind of thing I've done before. Most of the time, I know I'm just spit-balling, but this, this is something real I can do to make your job easier. And I've always wanted to do that," he grinned, "whether it seems that way to you or not."

"Ok, yes. It's a good idea for you to work that angle. And I'm ok with it."

"I'm glad," he said softly.

"But . . . Castle," she touched his hand and dropped her eyes, "things could get complicated."

"With the two of us? I think that's pretty much guaranteed," he snagged her fingers with his and squeezed, "So we keep talking. Keep figuring out the boundaries. I know I can be . . . too eager to please, and I'll work on it. But I wish you wouldn't borrow trouble."

"Borrow trouble," Beckett laughed, "ok, I'll work on that. But what if it came down to choosing whether to work together or . . ."

"I'd choose you," he said immediately, "I really hope that it doesn't come to it, because that would suck. I love working with you. It's exhilarating and inspiring and meaningful. But I absolutely, without a doubt, would choose being with you."

"Oh," she said in a small voice.

"And . . . that's me being overeager again, isn't it?" he mumbled.

"No. I'm glad. And I hope," she found his eyes, "I really hope that it doesn't come to that either. But I'm glad."

Castle knew what Lanie would have to say about the smile that was slowly taking over his face, but he really didn't care, "Good. Ok, let me buy you a drumstick to compensate this good shopkeeper for providing a venue for this awkward heart-to-heart."

"Oooh, bomb pop," she said. Her phone rang and she dug it out of her pocket, "Hey Ryan, I'm like 3 minutes from the precinct, but what've you got?"

"Couple things that can wait 'til you get here and one that can't."

"Well, don't keep me hanging," she followed Castle to the front register. Castle raised his eyebrows and she shrugged.

"Something might've popped on Grayson's fingerprints."

"Fingerprints? I thought that was a total dead end. What do you mean, 'might've'?" she shook her head at Castle, who was hovering too close.

"It's . . . a little complicated," Ryan's hesitation was really starting to grate, "the match is from the juvenile system and it's possible that they should have been flushed when he turned 21. But for some reason they weren't."

Beckett frowned, "What was he printed for?"

"Public lewdness when he was 17."

"Let me guess. In a rest room?" she asked. Castle pretended to be occupied with paying for the ice cream, but she could see him putting the pieces together.

"Got it in one, boss."

"Ok, so if he didn't picked up for something between the ages of 18 and 21, why wasn't his record expunged?"

"Seems like it just fell through the cracks. Prints were never forwarded to central, but they were still in the juvenile system."

"Ugh, sounds like a headache for legal, but not for us. So what's the name?" she smiled and took the bomb pop from Castle as she followed him out of the store.

"Charles 'Chase' Grace, III. Only bits and pieces on him so far, but Esposito thinks he might be connected to that crazy guy in that mansion up in Tarrytown from like a year ago."