The Danning Canning company was a giant, non-descript, gray, square brick factory in a row of other giant, non-descript, gray square brick factories. In fact, it was completely and wholly unremarkable. If you were to look inside the Danning Canning company, you would find the typical things one would expect to find in a factory called the Danning Canning factory. There was a front office, and there were shelves covered in a thick layer of dust and also some boxes, and there were vats of things that one would expect would eventually be canned. Oh, and there were cans of many shapes and sizes, and a conveyor belt, and various impressively large crates for shipping the types of things that come in cans to the types of places that were likely to sell the things that came in those cans. None of these things are remarkable in any way, shape, or form, except that one of these very large crates contained two bodies.

Don't be alarmed. In fact, the two bodies in the crate were very much alive – at the moment they were, anyway. One of the bodies belonged to a very famous mystery writer named Richard Castle, and the other to a not-as-famous police detective named Kate Beckett. At the moment, both of the owners of these bodies were very uncomfortable, as two bodies stuck in a packing crate were likely to be, and these two bodies happened to be very stuck. Of the two, Beckett seemed to be the most uncomfortable, for two reasons. The first reason was that she was awake, and the second reason was that her left elbow and shoulder were pinned under Castle. Oh, and the rest of her body, too. In fact, at the moment, Rick Castle was lying directly on top of her, and when she had awoken, mere moments ago, lying in the dark of the packing crate with a splitting headache, she had briefly entertained the possibility that she was pinned against the wood of the packing crate by Castle's dead body, but a steady stream of warm and fresh drool against her shoulder had told her otherwise.

Castle let out a soft snore, and much to Beckett's alarm, started nuzzling her neck.

"I love..." he sighed sleepily, "I love...cherry pie. Can I have another slice please?...And one for the garden gnome, too."

"Castle..." Becket whispered irritatedly, and shifted around, jostling Castle's head with her shoulder.

"...pie in the face! Not funny garden gnome!" Castle mumbled.

"CASTLE!"

"What the..."

"Castle", Becket said, a definite air of annoyance in her voice, "Get off my damned elbow."

"Why..." Castle groaned sleepily and shook his head. "Where? What? Wait – too many questions. Let me put them in order."

Kate laid there irritatedly, with Castle still on her elbow, as Castle thought for a minute.

"Okay, question number one...where are we and why is it so dark?"

"We're in a packing crate...I think...judging by the size and the fact that a splinter is working its way into my arm – Castle, will you get off my arm?"

"Oh, sorry." Castle wiggled and shifted his weight a little bit. "...there. Better?"

"Much." Beckett moved her now free appendage to get the blood moving again.

"Okay, second question – Why are we in a packing crate."

"Because you never stay in the damned car."

"Oh."