Takes place immediately after Chapter 2

Castle's eyes drifted away, seeming to focus on something far distant.

"Oberon, King of the Fairies," Castle said. "Appropriate, don't you think, that he'd own a medallion that could lead us to the greatest power in the universe?"

Beckett regarded Castle levelly. "That remains to be seen, Castle. Meanwhile, we need to keep the medallion safe."

"Yes," said Castle. "It seems they, whoever they are, have eyes and ears everywhere."

"Agreed," said Beckett. "They knew we'd uncovered the receipt for the pawn shop yesterday, then they tried to recover the medallion before we got there."

"The Titania Pawn Shop. Of course that's where he would have hidden it in plain sight."

"I don't follow," said Beckett.

"In Midsummer Night's Dream, Titania was Queen of the Faeries. Wife to Oberon, King of the Faeries."

"Well," said Beckett, "perfect except for the part where James Oberon was tortured to death."

Castle nodded. "Well, yes, aside from that part." Then he whispered, "Where is it now?"

"Esposito took it to evidence lockup to be catalogued. Then he's going to bring it back to me. And I know just the spot to hide it."

Castle stepped closer. "Oh?" he whispered. "Do tell."

"Castle, what makes you think I would trust you with the greatest power in the universe?" Beckett's mouth formed a teasing smile and her eyes sparkled mischievously.

But before Castle could formulate a response, the overhead lights went out. And the curses from officers at their desks told Beckett that the computers had gone down. It was a power failure.

Castle and Beckett looked at each other, wide-eyed, then they both said, "The medallion!"

Beckett grabbed her mobile and called Esposito. Castle, looking towards the windows, said, "At least we still have the daylight… Wait, what? How did they…?

They were now in pitch blackness. Something was blocking the light from the windows.

Not getting an answer from Espo, Beckett cursed, then she called out, "Stand by, everyone. The backup generators will come on."

But they didn't. At least, not for some time. And when they did, Beckett learned that Esposito had been attacked. He was okay, just a few bruises, but the medallion was missing.

It had been an extremely well organized attack. They had disconnected the main power and the backup generators both, then dropped sun blocking material down the sides of the building. Video surveillance showed well armed and armoured men storming the building. They were sporting some type of eye-wear, likely IR goggles, giving them an advantage while personnel scrambled in the dark.

Distracted at first by the status reports coming in, and the business of implementing disaster recovery protocols, Beckett didn't notice that Castle was missing. Not until she went to compare notes with him did she realize he was nowhere to be found.

Puzzled at first, then dismayed, she started to become anxious. "Oh no," she said to herself. "He wouldn't be that stupid."

And then, after thinking about it for a moment, she added, "What am I thinking? It's Castle. Of course he would."

And with that, Beckett grabbed her handbag and dashed out of the precinct.

Mohan Singh didn't mean to puff up his chest as he entered the warehouse. Nor did he intentionally have an extra swagger to his step. It simply happened, and was a reflection of the pride he felt. This was his moment to shine.

For months, Mo had been just one of the boys. He hadn't been ignored. But the fact was he was always assigned odd scraps of jobs, never anything important.

That was about to change.

The warehouse was dimly lit by the few overhead lights that still worked and by the late afternoon sunlight that streamed through the skylight. Under the skylight was a round table, empty but for the accumulated dust of years of disuse.

"It's Mo," he called out.

His voice echoed off the walls and tall ceiling. There was no response. "I've got it," he added, in a louder voice.

After a moment Mo heard a slow clapping, and Mr. Carter emerged from the darkness. He was dressed in a dark blue pinstripe suit, with a fedora perched on his head. As he continued to clap, Carter called out, "Come on, boys, give the man a round of applause. He deserves it."

A half dozen other men emerged, some burly, some thin, some clean shaven, some with days of beard growth, some bald, some with thick heads of hair, and they all joined Carter in clapping for Mo.

Mo stopped. A lump came to his throat.

"Don't keep us in suspense then," said Carter. "Show us."

Mo blinked, then approached the table and set down the medallion.

The gang gathered around the table and ogled. "Finally," someone murmured.

"Just look at it," said someone else.

Carter smiled broadly and put arms around the shoulders of the two men beside him. "This is what we've been waiting for," he said. "We're almost there. Each of us is going to have more power, more wealth, than we could have imagined."

"I dunno," said one. "I can imagine a lot."

This was greeted with guffaws and laughs.

When the laughter subsided, Carter continued. "Now there's one more thing we have to do. Just one. We're going to get our hands on the good Detective Beckett, the only one to know where the other half of the medallion is. And this time we won't let her slip through our fingers."

"Yeah, I'd like to get my hands on her all right," said a particularly homely member of the gang.

That remark was followed by more laughter. But then the meeting was interrupted by the sound of glass breaking, and the gang found themselves enveloped in a thick cloud of smoke. For Mo, time seemed to slow down. He heard a rustling sound, like a sail fluttering in the wind, then a heavy thud and the scraping of the table's legs. Within the darkness, a solid black shape grew and spread. And then a sound that reminded him of a fishing line.

Mo backed away. It was him. He'd come for the medallion. And after all this, after all the planning and risks, the Bat was going to get away with it.

But then he heard a dull thud, and someone said, "Ow!"

"Look," one of the gang said. "He's awake."

Mo was still a bit frightened, even though the man was trussed up like a turkey and suspended above the ground. The ropes that bound him were attached to a cable from a tall crane that nearly scraped the warehouse ceiling.

Batman's head turned frantically to and fro, and he struggled with his bonds. The more he struggled, the more the gang laughed.

Finally, he stopped struggling and looked below him.

Now, thought Mo, he realizes what a pickle he's landed himself in.

Carter stepped closer and looked up at the captive. "Sorry to spoil your heroic rescue attempt, Bat-jerk. But you know, it's amazing how useful IR goggles can be."

"You used them to steal the medallion," rasped the Bat.

"He may be misguided. He may be pathetic. But hey, he's not stupid," said Carter.

Carter turned to address his men.

"Any of you ever watch the old Batman TV episodes?" he said.

A couple of men said "Yeah" and "Sure".

"Well then," continued Carter, "every week the bad guys would catch the Bat, then they'd set up some crazy contraption to kill him. But then what happened? They walked away and the Bat escaped. Every time. Well, boys, today we're going to do it properly. We're staying 'till the bitter end. You know what's underneath you, don't you, Bat Brain?"

"Judging by my aching lungs, acid," said the Bat, who started to struggle with his bonds again. "But seriously guys," said the Bat, the rasp gone now, "who has a big vat of acid just lying around?"

"Well, today is your lucky day, because we do," said Carter. "And you're going to be getting a real close look at it. Mo? You did good today. Would you care to do the honours?"

Mo grinned. "Be glad to, boss."

Mo walked to the crane, climbed inside the box, and paused, bewildered by the instruments in front of him. Then he singled out one lever and gave it a pull.

"Oops," he said, as the Bat started to ascend.

He pulled another lever, and the Bat started a slow descent to the vat. "That's better."

"Release me," said the Bat. "Or you'll regret it."

A chorus of laughter greeted this.

"Hey," said Mo as he rejoined the others. "You never know. The Boy Wonder might show up to rescue him."

There was more laughter until a new voice said, "Who said anything about 'Boy'?"

Turning his head in the direction of the voice, Mo said, "Oh come on. You've got to be kidding me."

Another man said, "It's Robin. With boobs."

Robin was standing on top of a stack of crates near the vat, hands on her hips. Disguised with a black mask wrapped around her head, she wore an armoured uniform with a red tunic over green sleeves. The material covering her legs was green, as were her boots. On the left side of her chest was a yellow 'R'. She wore a yellow utility belt around her waist. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail.

Carter pulled out a gun. But before he could fire, Robin's hands flashed and a batarang sliced through the air, knocking the gun out of his hands. Then Robin uncoiled a whip and cracked it, encircling Batman's waist. Pulling him towards her with one hand, she released a batarang from the other, slicing the cable that suspended him over the vat. Batman reached the edge of the crate but couldn't keep his balance and nearly toppled back into the vat. But, grabbing him by the cape, Robin steadied him then used a knife to slice his bonds.

"You okay?" she said.

The Bat grinned. It was almost a leer. "I am now," he rasped.

"Then let's get to work," said Robin.

And with that, they lept down to deal with the gang.

BIFF!

One man fell from a blow to the chin.

BOP!

Another took a kick to the stomach and was dispatched by a left hook.

BAM!

And so on. And in the end, the gang members were out cold and tied up.

Batman turned to Robin and said. "How?"

"It's like you said. It's amazing what you can find online these days. I was going to surprise you at Halloween but I thought this was a good a time as any to try the suit on for size."

"But how did you find me?"

"Planted a tracker on you back at the precinct. Let's face it, Batman, I know you pretty well by now. What about you? How did you find them?"

"I might have placed a tracker on the medallion. I figured they would get their hands on it one way or another."

"And now," said Robin, "we have both halves of the medallion."

"Where?" said Batman.

"Where else?"

Nodding, Batman said, "Of course. And when we get to the Batcave, Batman and Robin might find themselves doing something that's not in the comics."

Ryan was first on the scene, having received the anonymous tip that the medallion thieves were in this warehouse. He exited his vehicle and began walking towards the warehouse doors when he stopped cold. The warehouse doors burst open and Batman and Robin dashed to a waiting car. More like a long, low tank. Then, with a burst of flame, the car sped away and around the corner.

A couple of minutes later, Ryan still hadn't moved an inch as Espo and a couple of squad cars pulled up.

Espo walked up to him. "Hey Ryan." There was no response. Ryan, his eyes wide, was staring straight ahead. Snapping his fingers, Espo said, "Yo! You okay?"

Ryan blinked, then turned to Espo. He smiled faintly and said, "Yeah, sure. Just waiting for backup."

In the underground garage that served as the Batcave, Castle and Beckett helped each other out of their costumes and engaged in an activity that had definitely never happened in the comics. When they were dressed in their civilian clothes, Beckett took the two halves of the medallion and placed them side-by-side.

"When did you put the first one here?" said Castle.

"After you rescued me that time," said Beckett with a smile. What safer place could there be?"

Then the smile faded and Beckett stared hard at the two medallions. With their flat sides joined together, the network of lines formed a single pattern. But still...

"What are we looking at, Castle?" said Beckett. "I'm still not much the wiser."

"Me neither," said Castle. "Wait a minute. I've got an idea."

Pulling out his mobile, Castle typed a query then showed Beckett the result.

"This is a map of the New York City subway system," Beckett said slowly.

"Exactly," said Castle. "And so are the medallions. Now look down here, at these two short lines that form an 'X' where the medallion halves meet. There's no station there."

"So 'X' marks the spot?" said Beckett.

"That would be my guess. Shall we?" said Castle.

When they arrived at the location, it wasn't what Castle was expecting.

"An art gallery? The greatest power in the universe is in an art gallery?"

Beckett shrugged. "We're here. Let's have a look."

Inside they found a small exhibit of works from a couple of local painters. The subjects were mostly subdued cityscapes and scenes of vaguely outlined people in front of shops and waiting at taxi stands.

Castle shook his head. It didn't make any sense.

A man with a cane emerged from the back room, quite elderly, with curly white hair, bright eyes and a big, toothy smile.

"Now, then," he said, "I'm the curator of this place. How can I help you?"

Beckett displayed her badge and said, "Kate Beckett with the NYPD. This is Richard Castle. We're looking for something that may have been left here by James Oberon."

The man nodded. "I read about his death. How very horrible. But yes, Mr. Oberon was here and left an item for us to keep. He paid the gallery a substantial sum, actually, to hold it. Would you care to see it?"

"Definitely," said Castle.

"It's in the basement," said the curator. "Just follow me."

The basement was dry and well lit and seemed surprisingly large given the size of the gallery above. There were tables, some empty, some stacked with canvases and tools, and there were crates scattered here and there. The curator led them to a place between two sets of crates and pointed to a painting mounted on the wall. Then he stepped aside to allow Beckett and Castle access.

They stared at the painting, wordless. It was a woman, her loose top pulled down so that she could breastfeed an infant. The background was near black. The woman and child were lit by a soft stream of light from the left. The woman had shoulder-length brown hair. Here eyes were partially closed, turned in the child's direction. Her red lips formed a small smile.

"Beckett," said Castle, turning to her, "is this…?"

There were tears in Beckett's eyes. "This is my mother. I don't understand. What does this mean?"

Castle moved closer and looked at the artist's signature on the bottom right of the canvas. "J. Oberon it says. So he was a painter as well as an archaeologist, and among your mother's talents, she was a model. And the baby, it must be…"

"Me," said Beckett, finishing his sentence while wiping her eyes. "It's me."

Then she turned to Castle and repeated, "What does it mean?"

Castle, still gazing at the painting, said, "I think I know." Then he turned to Beckett and held her shoulders in his hands. "Think about it. The greatest power in the universe. What else could it be but love? And what greater love than the love of a mother for her child?"

Martha Rogers, after a long day of rehearsals, relished the pop of the wine cork as she pulled it out of the bottle. Oh, that director. What was she going to do about that director? And her understudy. Oh, don't get me started, she thought. She had just poured a glass of the fragrant Sauvignon Blanc when she heard the door open.

"Mother," Castle said. "Are you here?"

"In the kitchen darling. And how was your day?"

But Castle didn't say a word. Instead, he simply approached his mother and took her in a big hug.

"Richard, darling," said Martha, puzzled but returning his hug. "What is it?"

"I love you," said Castle.

"Well, I love you too," said Martha. "With all my heart. You know that, kiddo. Always have and always will."

For Mom