Wrong Place, Wrong Time

The satisfying slap of her trainers on the wet pavement kept metronomic time with the constant sticky hum of the stroller wheels. Her leggings were damp, as was her hoodie. Maybe, she admitted, she was a bit more than damp. The light mist that hung in the air when she left had turned into a steady rain. Kate sighed through her exhale: her husband wouldn't mince words: he'd say that she was wet; soaked, and she could already hear the echo of his remonstration she faced if she got home after he did.

Kate smirked at her daughter. "I guess we'll just have to beat Daddy home then, won't we, Lily?" She often wondered what her contemplative child was thinking, even more with the thick plastic zipped up to protect her from the rain.

The jogging stroller had in fact been a gift from Castle on Lily's three-week birthday. Even though he acknowledged that he had grown rather fond of her fuller, more substantial curves, and bits, he also knew his wife: she would want to start getting back into pre-pregnancy shape as soon as possible. So he'd given her the gift, along with the caution that she should still take her time to recuperate, after all, not only did she have the effects of the pregnancy, but also, he was yet to be convinced she had fully recuperated from her wounds.

Ordinarily, she preferred to run alone. A solo run had always been uncomplicated and running alone made it easier to concentrate on herself, and how her body was responding to the stresses she purposely foists upon it. But after the first time that her daddy hadn't been available to watch Lily due to circumstances much like today's, they had literally run into some wonderful 'non-boob bonding time.' Castle had gleefully dubbed it so. Kate would get her exercise and Lily seemed to enjoy the movement and rhythms of the wheels on the road surface, and both mother and daughter got to know each other a little bit better.

That morning had been tough, however. Kate had overdone it the day before in the gym and it was misty, okay: raining: it was raining. Everything ached when it rained. All the old injuries, both hers and his, however, whereas he became grumpy and had a tendency to isolate himself, she wanted to face the old pain, stare it down, by no means give in, but instead, conquer it.

He could vacillate: on any given day, he would be ready to slay the dragons right alongside her, but on another he'd insist that they take it easy, retreat almost and, while they didn't need to lick their wounds anymore, even after more than a year, he was sometimes too eager to lock them away in the proverbial tower.

He recognized the problem and had been working with Dr. Burke, but somedays, like this morning, there had been no getting through to him. To top it off, he had a meeting that he'd tried to cancel, but had been frustrated in his efforts and forced to leave the safety and comfort of their home. Kate assured him that she would be fine and had even half implied that she and Lily would stay home until he was able to return to them. Just to calm him and make it possible to get on with their days. And she fully intended to stay at home; however, the aching desire and need to run rendered her implication mute. Her trainers and the stroller loudly beckoned and she answered.

Looking at the darkening skies, she cooed, "Okay, baby girl," she smiled through the cover, "just a few more blocks and then a quick stop at the store and then we'll go home and pretend we've been warm, cozy and dry all day. No need to make Daddy more upset than he already will be."

Back during the first miles, when the guilt caught up and kept pace, she decided to distract Castle by building a blanket fort, having cocoa and popcorn ready, and cueing up Mary Poppins in the DVR. The classic musical had recently become one of Lily's favorites and a spoonful of sugar might just sidetrack him enough so she could avoid his scolding. Warm and cozy for all of them.

He would need some warmth and coziness when he returned home. He was at one of the several meetings required by his new publisher, marketing himself as a children's book author. Richard Castle hadn't had to sell himself as an author for decades. Black Pawn had seriously considered opening a new genre division with his work as their initial offering. Gina, in a rare show of support, had gone to bat for him, truly. Knowing what he and his new family had been through, even though she balked at every opportunity, deep down she understood Rick's need to move away from the darker, grittier works he'd published in the past.

Kate knew that distancing himself from, cushioning, and preventing his PTSD triggers, including writing crime fiction, lie at the foundation of both, his over-protectiveness as well as his foray into children's books, despite the fact that he'd claimed that Lily inspired him as much as her mother did.

He had made enormous progress since he'd been seeing Dr. Burke, just as she had always done under the doctor's care. Remarkably, the doctor could gently prod and poke until he led you to examine a specific behavior or problem with which you had been struggling, and suddenly you'd see the same behavior from a different point of view, an invaluable skill when dealing with your own issues. It was as if you looked through a dingy window at your life, that dirty dark part of yourself you could never quite see clearly, suddenly illuminated, and through the newly washed glass that dirty dark part wasn't so dirty or dark. Added on to Castle's problems, were hers. He'd made himself her guardian; a watchdog of sorts, and would at times, watch her every move. Thankfully, for the most part, that beast lay low most of the time.

A wave of guilt crashed over her, snaked in, and wound around her mind and thoughts, just as her feet propelled the stroller around the sodden roads of their neighborhood. She picked up the pace for the last two blocks, it was a little bit of a push-up and over where she was comfortable, but beating him home and assuaging his worries was worth it. A burn started spreading through her thighs and calves and she knew she hit her limit. Slowing, she noticed that Lily had finally given up the fight against the movement and rhythms and was sleeping inside her warm and dry nest, completely untroubled about their culpability.

Deliberating between making a stop at the market, which would wake Lily, and delay getting back to the loft by a few minutes, or disregarding the few items on her list, admittedly none of which were absolutely essential, and going home, she pushed the stroller in a circle for a few minutes. Stopping completely in the cold and the damp would open up the possibility of cramps and that certainly wasn't on her agenda today.

She glanced in the stroller to see a pair of bright, completely awake, brown eyes staring at her. "Okay, miss: once again, you've made my decision for me."

She chuckled and headed toward the bodega a few blocks from home. After Lily had been born, during one of her first feedings after the nurse had woken a grumbling Kate, Castle had informed her that their life was no longer their own. That their child, her needs, and wants would take precedence henceforth. (Yes, he used 'henceforth.' It had become a catchword whenever one, the other, or both would be pulled away from whatever unimportant task they had been doing to care for their daughter.) The first night they were home, they'd begun almost every sentence with the phrase. 'Henceforth, we shall feed her and then if it pleases her agenda, then shall we eat.' 'Henceforth, I have no need for sleep.' 'Henceforth, snuggling shall be conducted in threes.' 'Henceforth, peeing is a luxury.' 'Henceforth, I am no longer in control; I'd do anything, go anywhere, and be anyone she requires.'

"Anything," she affirmed to her daughter with a smile as she picked her up and nestled her in the sling across her chest

Rick Castle glanced at his watch, again: the twelfth time in as many minutes. After nearly thirty years as a successful author, and as a major asset for Black Pawn, even a casual observer would assume, and rightly so, that he should have been beyond being made to sit in a contract meeting, visiting and revisiting every section and sub-section ad-nauseum.

He had to keep reminding himself that he was, in effect, a new employee. That essentially, his years of work didn't matter, except for the point Paula was making at that very minute. That regardless of whether or not he was known to children, children did not purchase his books, their parents did and their parents, most likely knew the name, Richard Castle.

Gina had set up the meeting with her friend, Felicity Fulsome, who worked for Work in Progress, an up and coming children's book publisher. She, at first, jumped at the chance to have a recognizable name in their stable. He even detected a hint of fangirl from her at first, but she had obviously gotten some tutoring from Gina in the meantime about the finer points of contract negotiation, specifically contract negotiation with Richard Castle, and now, she came across as decidedly cooler towards him.

He theorized that Gina had petulantly used this meeting as a means of drawing out her revenge upon him. Gina, through her hard work and talent, had boosted, cajoled, and elevated his hard work and talent through the years into his very successful career as an author. Gina, who on one level understood his need to step away from the crime procedural, but on another, lamented the potential loss of income if he didn't produce something for her regularly. As she had so eloquently opined and frequently reminded him, that if he didn't remain a name associated with crime fiction, he'd eventually be forgotten —like next week— and then inevitably be relegated to the discount rack. Gina, who gave as good as she got in their dance of former lovers, partners, matrimonial survivors; who matched him jagged word for jagged word, sparred, parried, and thrust almost as well as Beckett had.

'Almost as well as Beckett had,' repeating it silently to himself, he scowled. Apparently, he had a type. He craved the conflict. What the hell did that say about him? He immediately pulled out his phone and typed a note, 'Dr. Burke – Do I need conflict in my relationships? Do I create it?'

He grimaced. He and Kate had had words that very morning. It had not been what he would truly define as a fight, but he left their apartment feeling disjointed and unconnected; a draught of apprehension permeating his bones like the dampness in the air and anxious threads of doom stitched themselves through the pink ragged flesh of his scars.

It was probably just the weather. He hated the rain. He hurt when it rained and became difficult to live with. He knew it, knew the reasons, but could do little to circumvent it, except sequester himself, which he hated doing almost as much as he hated the rain. Another note for Dr. Burke.

He sighed heavily, drawing the attention of the people assembled around the conference table.

"Rick?" Paula asked as she laid her hand on his forearm.

"Sorry, sorry." He offered a smile, albeit a weak one. "Could we take a break?" He unconsciously rubbed his right shoulder.

Paula noticed immediately and agreed. She had been tender and caring, almost motherly toward him since his shooting. He missed their quit witted sparring, the tête-à-tête goading, and flippant verbal scuffles.

'God,' he thought, 'I do crave conflict.'

Kate left the stroller outside, sheltered by the meager dark green awning above the barred window of the shop. She hummed to her daughter, nestled against her chest, as she picked up a few comfort items: mini marshmallows for the cocoa later. She smiled as she placed them in her basket. Castle had recently acquired a marshmallow blaster and their marshmallow supply had been used for ammo. She still found hardened marshmallows all over the loft, prompting her diktat that food would no longer be used as projectiles, but then had to amend it to specify that food would no longer be used as projectiles by him, when he reminded her that, in a very few months, Lily would make a mockery of her decree.

In the second aisle, she met Mrs. Mastrioni, who, along with her husband, owned an Italian eatery a few blocks south, but still within their neighborhood. The older woman gushed over how big Lily was getting, even at a month old. She wrapped Kate in a hug and made her promise to bring Riccardo, Alexis, and the bambino for supper soon. She always smelled of tomatoes, sweet basil, and garlic. Rick had often said that she would be set whenever a vampire moved into the neighborhood like on that TV show, 'Being Human.'

Rounding the next corner, she picked up a packet of wipes, turned to the refrigerated section to get a carton of eggs and, despite her shivering; she impulsively selected a quart of potato chip fudge ice cream from the freezer at the end. The owner knew that the Castles would buy it if they stocked it.

Lily perceptively gazed up at her mother and Kate frowned. "Don't even start," she admonished her infant. The little girl, who Castle had said was her mini-me, already had perfected that look of mischief: his lop-sided smirk and the lift of her wispy eyebrow, which she undeniably inherited entirely from her daddy.

Kate would have sworn that their daughter was thoroughly amused and let herself fantasize again about whom Lily would most emulate or would she be a perfect mixture, the best (and worse) of each of their personalities. She strolled by the pickle barrel and opened half of the hinged plastic lid with the intent to purchase a pickle like those she had craved towards the end of her pregnancy. Castle had told her that her cravings were clichéd and boring and that meant that their daughter would be anything but. She was sure he made up most of the old wives' tales he had recounted.

She was pulled from her daydream a few seconds later with an exclamation of, "God, no, please."

"Shut up, old man and just empty the register."

Kate couldn't see the checkout from the freezer aisle where she was but could hear the desperation in the young man's voice clearly. Looking down the aisle, she made eye contact with Mrs. Mastrioni. Kate placed a finger across her lips and the wide-eyed older woman nodded despite the fear written in her features.

"Yo shit! There's a cop."

She looked around, holding her child tightly, too tightly maybe, to her chest. Her heart thumped so wildly she was surprised that Lily's head wasn't being jostled with every beat. How could they have known? She was barely wearing anything besides her running clothes, phone, and keys.

Peeking around the end cap, the attention of the robber and, 'shit,' she thought as she realized that he had a partner, was focused on a cruiser that had just parked across the street. As the two of them stood staring out the window with their backs to her, she assessed them. Dirty, baggy, multiple layered clothing; stringy hair; unshaven; jittery, almost fidgety and that one facet made her the most nervous.

The uniform remained in the cruiser, probably unaware of the situation inside the little store and there entirely by coincidence. Kate pursed her lips.

"Did you call the cops?" The first perp shouted as he waved his gun in the shopkeeper's face.

"No…no, I don't," Timur Mozhayev, a first-generation immigrant, with whom Kate had frequently kept up her Russian, spoke in broken, halting English, a trait she had noticed happened when he happened to be nervous or worried. Darya, his daughter, had given birth to a beautiful girl, just three days before Kate. His pronunciation had faltered then, while he anxiously waited for news of his first grandchild's birth. They regularly shared photos, bragged, and compared milestones.

"Why the hell are they outside then?" the man holding the gun squawked.

She deliberately breathed and pulled out her phone. Not wanting to make any unnecessary noise she opened her texts and pressed an icon at the top of the recents list. It happened to be Ryan's. Kate had texted him earlier that day to check on how he was doing at the academy.

'At shop near loft w Lily. 10/30. Cruiser outside unaware. ESU HNT.'

"What the…shit…who. Damn it, Robbie, there's customers here."

Kate read the fear on the man; really the boy's, face and managed to press the send button. "Yes," she said in her Russian accent. "You no hurt…" She held her breath, in part because she wasn't sure if he'd buy her ruse and partially because he smelled as dirty as he looked.

"Drop your phone."

"Oh…um…phone?" She held the device out, but then she fumbled it and it landed in the open pickle barrel. "Oh no," she lamented, "My husband just get new contract. He kill me."

Javier Esposito sat at his desk and reread the study notes Marisa had typed for him. His mind was elsewhere in all honesty. He had always been a loner, even when he had been assigned partners and to teams. There was no way he would admit that he missed them. He did though.

He sighed heavily as his eyes landed on what had been Ryan's desk. With his ex-partner settling into his new job, and his ever-growing family taking up most of his off time, he hadn't seen Ryan for weeks. He sighed again as he thought of Beckett and Castle, also moving on. Beckett was on leave and Castle, well Castle not underfoot was always a good thing, he tried to convince himself. But there was no one to posture for, no reputation of barely tolerating Castle to uphold, no self-indulgent humor at the uncertainty and touch of alarm he always read in the writer's eyes when he got in his face. He wouldn't start down that road with the new team, open himself up, only to be left behind, he wouldn't, not for the strangers in his team's place.

He sighed again, spun his chair back to his screen, and jiggled the mouse to awaken the notes once again. His phone began to play, 'It's no, nay, never, no nay, never, no more will I play the wild rover, no never no more.'

Espo grinned and reached for the device. "Ryan, speak of the dev…"

Ryan's frantic tone cut him off. "Beckett's in trouble."

"No! What the hell? No, we can't go out front." Duane shook his head. "Don't you see the cop?"

Robbie ducked his head so he could see around a neon sign advertising beer and squinted. "He's ain't even looking this way, Duane."

Duane rubbed the back of his neck in what looked to be a long-suffering gesture. "Just because a moron like you hasn't seen him look this way, don't mean he ain't." He held his hand out toward the patrol car. "They're trained in looking when they don't look like they're looking. Jesus Robbie, don't you watch any TV?" He locked the front doors, yanked the plug of the neon open sign out of the socket, and then ran to the back and turned off the lights.

The atmosphere inside the little store became dully gray. The rain clouds stultified any light from the afternoon and the only lights left on in the store came from the glass-fronted coolers, which only made it seem colder.

"I still don't think he knows we're in here," Robbie mumbled sullenly. He walked up to where Beckett had sat down on the grimy tile next to the deli counter, the fluorescent illuminating half of her face. She rocked Lily as she held her close to her chest. Mrs. Mastrioni had sat on an overturned milk crate at the end of the meat case. She tightly grasped the crucifix hanging from a chain around her neck in her hands, mouthing prayers, but kept silent.

"Little girl or boy?"

She blinked and looked up at the one called Robbie. He wasn't much more than a little boy himself. He had a baby-face and an innocence in his eyes. His partner, the obvious leader of their gang, if you could call it that, was worldlier, more disenfranchised, more menacing.

Robbie jammed his hands in the pockets of his grimy jeans. He stood too close to Beckett and towered over her. "The kid: is it a girl or boy?"

Beckett nodded. One of the advantages of playing the immigrant was that ignorant people mistook an presumed lack of mastery of the English language as fatuity.

Robbie pursed his lips. "Stupid. Yeah, I see it's a baby." He squatted right in front of her. Beckett could smell a putrid combination of tobacco, grime, cheap beer, and body odor. "Is it a girl?" he asked more loudly than before and pointed at her breasts. "Or a boy?" He grabbed his own crotch.

"I go now?" she asked nodding her head toward the door.

"Stupid whore," Robbie dismissed. "No. You understand no, right?"

"Leave her alone," Timur ordered. "There's a door to the alley. You boys go out that way. Take the money. Leave us be."

At that time, sirens could be heard growing louder until the strobe of blue, red, and yellow lights filled the vacated light in the store. The NYPD timing couldn't have been worse.

"NYPD! Come out with your hands above your heads!"

"I told you he was watching us," Duane said triumphantly as he knocked Robbie on the back of his head.

They had negotiated all the terms of the contract, including his compensation, the proceeds of which were to be paid to New York Presbyterian Trauma Center. They had agreed upon an artist, which was another new aspect of publishing, except for his own cover art; Castle had never had to illustrate his words previously.

Castle stood before their group relating his character ideas and storyline on a whiteboard, not unlike the murder boards they used at the twelfth, when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

"Excuse me," he said as he turned and pulled out his phone. Paula had already asked about Lily, so the group knew he had an infant at home and needed to be available.

He read the text from Ryan twice.

"Rick?" Paula asked, having just watched her client's face blanch.

"I…uh…" He pressed a button on his phone and held the device to his ear. "Come on, Beckett. Come on. Damn it: voicemail." He stabbed another icon and listened for a second before he cried, "Ryan, what the hell is going on?"

The store's phone rang. Its jarring clang cut through the fog of silence in the store. Kate shut her eyes and bowed her head, brushing her lips over the downy softness of Lily's hair.

"Hallo?" Timur answered after having been directed to by the waving of a gun. "Yes, I am him." He looked directly at Kate at he spoke.

"No. No one is hurt. Yes, okay." He held the phone out to the robbers.

Duane reached for it. "I want you all to clear out," he demanded without preamble.

"There's three: a Russian chick with a baby, a old lady, and the guy that owns the place. Yeah man, everyone is okay. Demands?" He looked askance at his partner. "You want anything? I doubt we'll ever get a blank check again."

Robbie shrugged and raised an eyebrow. "Ah hell. I don't know. Tell them to call back."

Duane did.

Beckett sighed. They had no idea what they were doing. They, like she, were in the wrong place at the wrong time and appeared to be capitalizing on their shared situation.

They leaned against the checkout counter like two children making a wish list for Santa.

"We don't need a jet ski to get out of here," Duane admonished.

Beckett rolled her eyes just as Lily decided that she had had enough of her mother's firm hold and started whimpering while rooting around her shirt.

There was not a way in hell that she'd feed her in this situation. The two idiots would see her breastfeeding as erotic and not as a completely natural, non-sexual function of the human breasts. She recalled the first time she'd caught Castle watching her feed Lily, mere hours after she was born. She almost accused him of ogling her like a pervert at a free peep show, but then she looked deeper into his eyes and expression. There was nothing sexual, wanton, or lustful. She just found plain and untainted admiration and joy. His wife was feeding their daughter and he adored that process the same way he'd adored and been awed by her whole pregnancy.

The phone rang again.

"Yeah. We decided. Yeah, we want a helicopter," Duane said and hung up the phone. He chuckled and sneered, utterly pleased with himself.

Castle had to jump out of the cab a block and a half away from the barricades and lights because of the backed up traffic and insensitive bystanders. It was only the middle of the afternoon, but the skies had opened and closed at once. The rain fell furiously and the clouds had gathered, thickened, and shut out any natural light. The red and blue reflected off the wet surfaces and the scent of washed pavement permeated the humid air. The people stuck in their vehicles, stared blankly as he ran by them. They couldn't care less, except that their journey had been delayed. Sporadic and useless honks seemed to accentuate his run.

"Sir, you need to stay behind the barriers," a uniform told him.

"My wife..." He swallowed a breath and tried to calm himself. "My wife: she's NYPD…Captain Beckett, she's in there."

"I'm sorry, sir…"

He narrowed his eyes at the young officer. "Who's in charge?" he snapped. He wanted to shout, stomp his feet, and tell him who he was, who he knew, and that his life was inside the little store.

"Castle!" Esposito's voice cut through the chaos. "It's okay officer," Espo appeased as he lifted the tape for Castle. "He's with me." Esposito clutched Castle on the shoulder and met his eyes, assessing his friend.

"Javi, have you heard anything?"

"Beckett and Lily are inside …" Castle clamped his teeth together against the tidal wave of fear and panic rising in his chest. Espo continued, "The shop owner, another woman. Looks like two perps. And, well…"

"Well, what?"

"They seem to be idiots."

"Most criminals are, it doesn't make them any less dangerous," Castle grumbled.

"Never underestimate the power of stupid people in groups."

Both Esposito and Castle turned toward the newcomer.

"Hey man!" Espo smiled as he fist bumped with Ryan.

"Kevin," Castle smiled. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?"

Ryan shook his head. "I wasn't just going to sit this out. The Academy isn't going anywhere. I'm where I should be —with my family."

Grateful for his brothers, Castle squeezed Ryan's shoulder and the three of them walked to the HNT command center.

"Shh, baby girl," Kate murmured as she rocked back and forth. Lily, who could be as obstinate as her mother could, began crying in earnest.

Duane picked up the phone and Kate heard the conversation in her periphery.

"Yeah. Where's the helicopter? No! I didn't ask for no car. We want…God damn it!" Duane turned suddenly and pointed his gun at Kate. "Shut that God damned kid up!"

"No!" Timur shouted and moved in front of Kate.

"Okay, okay," Kate spoke, "I take care of her…please."

Robbie pursed his lips and shuffled in front of Duane, putting himself between his partner and Kate. "Duane, don't worry about the kid. What did the cop say?"

Kate turned away from the gunmen and hiked her shirt and bra above her breast. Lily immediately quieted as she began to nurse. Mrs. Mastrioni took the scarf off her hair, opened it, and placed it over Kate and Lily. She nodded, smiling sadly when Kate looked up to thank her.

She didn't like having her back to the perps, but she was also not going to give them a free show. She could still control that, at least.

Castle and the boys walked into the modified RV that HNT used as a mobile command center. The captain had his back towards them, but when he heard the door open he turned. He scowled as he spoke, "Jenkins, I want to know everything we can about the hostages…one's a cop, right? Why the hell didn't she have her piece?"

"She's on maternity leave," Castle retorted.

"Who the hell are you?" the captain barked.

"I'm Detective Esposi…"

"Hang on…" he narrowed his eyes at the trio. "You're the writer: that homicide detective's partner. You were held hostage in the New Amsterdam Bank, the one where they blew themselves up, what about five, six years ago?"

"Yeah…"

"Where's your partner?" Captain Peterson asked.

"She's…she's the cop inside." He nodded toward the little store as the phone rang. The call was broadcast inside the command center. They all heard the baby crying. Castle felt unsteady and it became hard to breathe. "Oh my God," he said. He felt the blood leave his face. He felt the pinpricks of sweat erupt.

"Bro," Espo was at his elbow and made him sit. "She's okay—they both are."

"Here, detective," a cop in dark blue fatigues handed Ryan a bottle of water.

"Thanks," he handed it to Castle when the gunman started yelling about the baby's crying.

"They ain't gonna give us no helicopter." Duane stated as he rubbed the scraggly growth on his chin.

Robbie sniffed. "So, what do we do?"

"I guess we'll have to show them that we're in charge." Duane licked his lips and hungrily eyed Beckett as she covered herself.

"Something's happening," Ryan said, gesturing to the monitors.

The door of the store opened and an older woman emerged from the darkness within.

"That's Mrs. Mastrioni. She owns an Italian rest…"

The woman had only made it a few yards before she crumpled to the ground as shots rang out from the store.

"Oh my god, oh…Kate," Castle breathed.

From inside the store, Kate craned her neck and watched ESU rescue Mrs. Mastrioni from the street. It appeared that she was still conscious. A moment later she heard an ambulance drive away. Kate clutched the woman's scarf, noting that it too, smelled of garlic and basil.

The phone rang and Duane reached for it. "Yeah. Now you know we're serious."

Kate could hear the calm tones of the negotiator through the phone.

"A helicopter…and…and a million dollars." Duane shook his head. "Oh no? How much is this kid worth to you?" He slammed the phone down in its cradle.

A cold chill gripped Castle's heart when he heard the man threaten his daughter. "I…" he dropped his head.

"Bro?" Esposito asked

"I'm okay," Castle said as he inhaled and then again pushing out the air between his gritted teeth as if it weren't an autonomous function. He wasn't okay.

"A million dollars," Captain Peterson said, disgustedly, which drew the attention of both his friends to the captain and his team. Esposito offered his experience with ESU to the captain and was in a deep conversation. Castle shakily, but silently stood, his hands methodically fisting and then relaxing, repeatedly.

"Castle?" Ryan seemed to appear at his elbow from nowhere.

"I'm okay," he fitfully breathed. "I just need some air."

"I can go with you," Ryan offered.

Castle held his hand up. "No, no. That's…I'm okay." He offered him a weak smile and nodded to the team. "See how you can help here."

Ryan clapped him on his shoulder and nodded. When the three men had turned back to the strategy session, Castle slipped out of the van.

Duane menacingly approached Kate and Lily. "If they don't pony up, you and that noisemaker are next."

A fire rose in her. "You not hurt my baby," she barely remembered to maintain the broken English in time. She averted her eyes to keep up the ruse and so Duane wouldn't see the hardness in them. "You…you take me. Leave baby and man."

"No Katia," Timur stood and shouted only to be shoved back to the floor by Robbie. Timur grunted as he hit the tiled surface. He slowly inched back to the milk crate vacated by Mrs. Mastrioni and cradled his left arm on his lap.

Bent over and leaning against the command post, he breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. Ordinarily, he loved the scent of the freshly washed city, but today it was making him sick. He could almost hear Dr. Burke's easy, calming sotto voce…almost. He heard Lily's cries easier, repeatedly running through his head in a constant loop. Kate wouldn't just let her cry. He concluded that something had happened. He willed his mind not to come back from that black pit. He tried to come up with alternative scenarios, but he kept seeing his wife lying unconscious on the floor of the little store they frequented. He could easily picture the place; he'd been in there so many times in the years he'd lived in the neighborhood.

He lifted his head. He could picture the place! His feet started moving. He'd been all over the little shop when Timur broke his leg. He'd helped, along with other neighborhood regulars, stock, and inventory, sell and spill the pickle barrel (Castle was the only one of Timur's helpers to achieve that one).

The shop, like so many of the row buildings in the city, was attached to its neighbors: a dry cleaner on the left and a little bookstore on the right. He had only been in the bookstore once. That was the time that the owner, in no hidden meaning or disdain, belittled anything published within the last fifty years claiming that modern writing was all pulp. He made it a habit to send them modern classics, like The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan, and Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh, as well as the occasional Nikki Heat crime novel and even novels he didn't care for, for instance, The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks, but it was still a popular book. He sent them all anonymously and had the sneaking suspicion that the know-it-all owner may have been enjoying his selections – secretly, of course.

Castle walked to the end of the block, turned a corner, walked down an alley, and turned into another alley.

"The old man is hurt," she bargained, keeping her eyes hidden in her hair, "the baby will slow you down, yes?"

"Duane, maybe she's right." Robbie ran his hand through his greasy hair. "I don't want to hurt no kid."

"That's cuz you're weak." He shook his head. "Everyone stays where they are until we hear a chopper."

He quietly inched his way along the old brick building to a door. It had no outside handle and had shut himself out many times while volunteering there, but he found that if you could slip something under the plate, you could pry it open.

"I'm going to go check on Castle," Ryan said. He was better at waiting than his former partner, who grunted his frustration in response, but he just couldn't stay confined any longer.

"Yeah," Javi agreed. "He didn't look so good."

Ryan swallowed and shook his head as he lifted the hood of his jacket. "I'd be wrecked if Jenny was in there and doubly so if Nicholas or Sarah Grace were with her."

Castle frantically searched the storm-darkened alleyway for anything flat and sturdy enough to wrest open the door. He slapped his pockets, his Moleskine, a Montblanc pen, his wallet. He paused at his wallet, but then dismissed the notion of a credit card being strong enough for the job. It was as incapable as he was in that moment. With all his millions, he was worthless. He stared at his wallet willing it to produce the necessary implement magically. His mind flashed to their very first case when he pulled his emergency handcuff key from his wallet, which he advocated everyone should have: because you never know when you might need one. He searched the depths for what, he didn't know. Frustrated, he went to put the wallet back in his pocket, but fumbled its now slick surface and juggled it, dropping it in the puddle below.

"Damn it," he cursed.

Bending down to retrieve it, he sighed and then smiled. A glint of metal under the dumpster caught his eye.

"Javi, he's not out here," Ryan said as he pulled on his friend's arm.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I looked everywhere and he's gone."

"Damn it," Esposito cursed. "Shit, do you think…?"

Ryan looked toward the store. "I do. I don't know where he is, but I'd bet he's trying to get in there."

Esposito shook his head and grabbed the door handle to the HNT command vehicle.

"Javi, if it was Jenny…" Ryan looked imploringly at his former partner. He inhaled and continued, "Or Marissa."

Esposito pursed his lips as he thought for a moment. Climbing back into the command center, he said, "Captain?"

Peterson immediately turned around.

"Please," Kate persisted. "You take me. We go to the back door. Stupid cops know nothing."

"Duane, I don't think they're gonna…"

"We can't back down now."

"Yes, you can. We won't tell them where you've gone," Timur replied, weakly. Kate could see that the older man was at the end of his endurance.

Beckett stood up. She walked slowly to Timur and placed Lily in his lap. She met the old man's fearful eyes and nodded. "Vse budet khorosho, Timur." 'Everything will be fine.' She bent down and kissed Lily's forehead. "Pozabot'tes' o moyey docheri." 'Take care of my daughter.'

"Okay," the man said; his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes never leaving hers...

"Come on boys. Time to stop playing waiting game, huh?" She spoke with as thick an accent as she could. "I need to go home. My husband will be very mad if I don't go home." Kate sidled up to Robbie. Maybe we have some fun on the way. My husband is bratva." Robbie gave her a look that said he had no idea what she was saying. Timur knew the word and reacted as if the kind man he knew as Rick was actually a part of the Russian mob. "You know – how you say…um, gang…no, eh…team? No that is not it…ah…" she sighed excitedly, "mafia, that's it." Robbie's eyes grew wide with fear. "Come on, we go out back."

Robbie looked ready to bolt. "Duane…shit man. We don't want no mafia comin' after us. Let's just go."

Duane examined Kate's face and she was never as grateful for her poker face then at that moment. It had come in handy in the past, when she trounced Castle, making him strip for her. The thought of her husband, who surely must have been informed by now, made her catch her breath: a tiny hiccup in an otherwise perfect bluff. She glanced toward Lily, who was busy cataloging each of Timur's facial hairs.

Duane smiled.

Castle tried to push the dumpster, to pull the dumpster, shove it, and heave it, even to the point of feeling a painful twinge in his shoulder. The damn thing was immovable. He looked around, he wasn't sure why, before he dropped to his belly in the mud, grime, and filth and stretched his arm under the dumpster.

The smell was overpoweringly putrid and he vowed then and there that he would never again complain about his little girl's remarkable capability to produce unbelievably rank substances from a body that was so sweet. It astounded him. He didn't remember Alexis having that particular talent.

He scraped his cheek on the rough pavement and felt something, furry and warm skitter across the back of his outstretched hand.

"Gross," he muttered.

"I hope you weren't right: that he didn't just get some distance to breathe."

"That's ridiculous. It's Castle. No way he's going anywhere without them safe."

"Yeah," Ryan agreed as they turned the corner into the alley that would bring them to the rear of the shop, nodding to the pair of uniforms as they passed. "You guys see anybody go down here?"

They shook their heads in unison. "No detectives."

"Maybe I was wrong," Ryan muttered.

"Or maybe you weren't. Damn it."

"What?" Ryan said catching up to Espo who began jogging down the two blocks behind the interconnected buildings, surveilling the area around them.

"Is that Castle on the ground?"

Both Ryan and Espo's hearts sped up. They both remembered finding him and Kate the year before.

They ran harder, desperate to call out but without knowing the situation, were cautious. Reaching the writer, warily, side arms drawn, Ryan gulped and bent down next to his friend. As soon as he touched Castle's shoulder, the author jerked and rolled out from under the dumpster.

"I got you, you sucker!" he crowed triumphantly.

Esposito frowned, noting the muck all over him and the scrape on the author's face. "Castle…shit. Are you okay?"

Ryan helped him to his feet. "God…we thought you…" He sighed audibly as he left the rest of the thought unspoken.

Castle looked back and forth between the stricken faces of his partners. "Oh," he intoned as understanding struck him. "You thought…" He gave them a closed mouth half-smile. "Sorry, guys."

"What in the hell were you doing on the ground?"

"Getting this," he cried victoriously as he held up the butter knife.

"I'm going with her," Robbie said, defiantly standing up to his partner.

"You ain't going nowhere," Duane roared.

"Aw, shit man. They aren't going to get you a helicopter or a million bucks. Best we can do is try to run now that you shot the old lady." Robbie shook his head as if he suddenly caught a bout of intelligence.

"All," Rick grunted, "you need…is…some leverage."

He stuck his finger in the opening he'd made and all three of them swung the heavy door open wide enough to slip through.

The phone rang, breaking the tension that had built up between the captors. Kate heard Lily sigh. She often made the contented sound just before she fell asleep.

"What do you mean there's been a delay?" Duane roared.

Kate could hear the negotiator explaining a supposed delay, but she knew it was a tactic.

Duane hurled the phone across the room, knocking over a display of wine bottles, which crashed and spilled. The baby awoke and began whimpering. Timur did his best to calm her. Kate ached to get her.

"They're just playing with us. Can't you see that?" Robbie questioned. "We need to go."

For the first time, Duane looked unsure of himself. He pointed the gun at Kate. "You go first."

The three of them stealthily crept through the break room, the cold storage area, and the stock room, all only a few feet in length each, all interconnected with doors on each side of the room. Timur kept the doors open. He had always joked it would be easier to make an escape from the KGB.

Approaching the store itself, Castle saw through the glass-fronted refrigerated cases when the thug raised the gun and pointed it toward Kate.

Espo did as well and grabbed Castle's arm reassuringly as he held a finger up to his lips. Surprise was everything.

They had watched the scene unfold for a moment and in their own long-practiced version of sign language, had come up with a plan. Ryan took a position on the opposite side of the door from the store to the stock room. They would wait until the gunmen got past and then leap into an attack.

Kate walked by and it took everything Castle had in him not to reach out for her, to pull her to the safety within his arms.

It wasn't clear if she knew they were there or not. He'd been on the losing side of her poker face too many times to keep track lately. He didn't really mind losing. His mother had been right, after all: they both won.

Kate walked steadily toward the open door between the stock room and cold storage, once she cleared it. Castle jumped between her and the gunmen and slammed the door shut. He dove between the stacked boxes of goods as shots rang out and boxes exploded.

Esposito and Ryan shouted for them to drop their weapons and returned fire, hitting the taller in the shoulder and the younger one in the thigh.

Kate returned, looking furious and shouting, "NYPD, drop to the floor or my detectives will drop you." A look of satisfaction crossed her face when she heard Duane and Robbie grunt as Ryan and Espo knelt on the men's backs and cuffed them.

It was gone in a second as she ran to the front of the shop. Timur held a sleeping Lily out to her. Kate grasped her and snuggled her to her chest. "Oh my god," she mumbled as tear after tear slid down her cheek.

"Kate?"

"Castle?"

"Oh god," he said as he slammed into her. Lily squawked when she woke. "Are you…"

"Fine, Castle."

"Lily?"

"We're both fine."

He exhaled and hugged them both. Time seemed to stand still. ESU entered and cleared the building, the lights came back on, all within a few seconds, but to Castle it seemed like an eternity.

"I thought…"

"I know. I'm so sorry."

"Everyone okay?" Ryan asked as he and Esposito approached.

"Yeah," Kate assured them. "Thanks for getting my message."

"Of course," he said as he hugged her. "I'm glad everything turned out all right."

"You'll need to speak with ESU," Espo began, "but I think I can arrange it for later. I'll smooth it over with the Captain." He nodded at Castle who nodded gratefully in return.

He hadn't put the baby down since they got home, Kate realized, until she forced him to shower. As she thought about it, he hadn't let her stray very far from him either. Lily reclined in the baby bathtub on the countertop, softly cooing, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened that day.

They had walked home wordlessly together; she pushed the stroller and he held Lily tight against his chest.

As he unlocked the door, she motioned to take their daughter, but he held her closely.

"Babe?"

"I've got her," he replied softly.

She stayed mute until they were inside; the door locked, and wet shoes and coats dumped in a pile next to the steps.

"Why don't you shower?"

"I'm okay," he said. He wasn't, he was filthy, having only wiped off rudimentarily with Lily's baby wipes, and a blanket between them, protecting her from his dirty clothes, but Castle would always take care of them first. "I want you to get warmed up, Kate."

Rather than argue, she quickly showered, dressed comfortably in leggings and one of his tee shirts, and then was adamant that he took his turn. He did, and he went quietly. An entirely unusual behavior for Castle.

By the time he emerged, barefoot, dressed in sweatpants and a tee shirt, he looked much more relaxed.

Lily had finished her bath and Kate had changed and fed her. They were playing quietly, snuggled in the corner of the couch. Castle loomed over them for a moment, seemed to make a decision, leaned down, kissed both of them, and headed for the kitchen.

"What would you like for supper?" he asked. "I'm thinking maybe some meatloaf – your mom's recipe – mashed potatoes and gravy…"

"Comfort food?"

"Yeah. Chocolate chip cookies, too."

Suddenly, she was behind him, the baby sandwiched between her front and his back.

He stopped washing the potatoes and stood at the sink, letting her cling. Feeling them both alive, well and…he frowned. "Are you…smelling me?"

"You smell good."

"I…" he checked over his shoulder to be sure she actually had a hold of their daughter. Satisfied, he spun to face her. "I love you."

"I know…"

"You're weird."

"Castle."

"Smelling me is weird."

She hummed in response, a small smile played on her lips.

He dropped his gaze and exhaled. When he lifted his head, his eyes swam with the dread he always held close. "Kate, I was so scared today."

"I know." She ran her hand over his chest, feeling the solidness of him. "I was, too."

He bent his neck and kissed Lily on the head again. "I heard her crying over the phone."

"The phone?"

"Yeah, Espo, Ryan, and I were in ESU's command center. And I couldn't…there was nothing I…"

She placed her finger over his lips. "God…I'm so…"

"Stop saying you're sorry." he interrupted, "Unless, of course, you're apologizing for running in the rain." He raised an eyebrow, daring her to deny it.

"Okay, I do apologize for that. We were okay until those two idiots came into Timur's, and we couldn't have…"

"I know…just…"

"I know," she said as she tiptoed up and kissed him until Lily loudly objected.

They broke apart, she with a grin, while he chuckled. "Henceforth: ew, gross," he acknowledged. He pinched her butt. "Go relax. Supper will be ready in a bit."

"Are you sure? We could help."

"I'm sure. Being taken hostage gets you the night off. Want some cocoa?" She nodded and then he hip-bumped her in the direction of the couch, turning to retrieve the ingredients for the cocoa. Kate placed Lily in her playpen, but then returned, opting for the breakfast bar, instead.

He pursed his lips and made a mental note to get comfier stools. "I do have one question."

"Okay."

"A Russian chick with a baby?"

Kate grinned and spoke in her broken Russian accent. "You know, my husband, he kill me when he knows about phone."

"Your phone, Katia?"

"I have to drop it in pickle barrel."

"You do know we just renewed our contract."

"Maybe I make it up to you…somehow." She looked out from under her eyelashes.

"Maybe," he smirked. "But smelling me is still weird."

Kate rose, draped her arms around his neck, nuzzled just below his jawline, and breathed him in, deeply. "Not weird, Castle: comfort." She heard his contented sigh, felt his smile claim his lips, and then she did as well.