"A Funny Thing Happened on the Way ..."

By December21st

Fandom: Castle

Rating: PG

Pairing: Castle/Beckett

Warnings: None

Beta: Thanks to lone_pyramid for her POV about POVs ... and other handy corrections.

Summary: When they say "it's not the destination, it's the journey," this isn't what they had in mind.

Written for lizzy_copycat on the occasion of the LiveJournal's Castleland Secret Santa challenge. I hope you like it.

"You're early," Beckett greets Castle, standing to one side so he can enter her apartment. He does so, noting that she's nearly ready in spite of his lack of tardiness. Her hair cascades over her shoulders and her makeup is perfect, more elegant than her usual look at work.

"The taxi gods were kind to me tonight," he explains. He notices Beckett's glance flickering over him and hopes she likes the look of his expensive new tailored suit.

"Make yourself useful," Beckett commands, spinning around so she's facing away from him. For a moment Castle just stares at the skin revealed by the low back of her quintessential little black dress as she reaches back to hold her hair up. He's momentarily fascinated by the twin freckles low on one shoulder blade until the sensible part of his brain - the one that was briefly distracted - notices that the dress is only halfway zipped up.

The devil on his shoulder whispers "up or down?", but he ignores it in favor of being the perfect gentleman, carefully raising the zipper to the top of the dress, his fingertips lingering on the bare skin of Beckett's back no more than a few moments longer than necessary.

"Always happy to help with any of your zipping and unzipping needs," Castle quips, and Beckett rolls her eyes, looking simultaneously exasperated and amused. As she disappears into another part of her apartment, Castle considers that Beckett's eyes must be really strong from all the eye-rolling she does.

She reappears carrying a pair of shoes with heels high and pointed enough to be used as a murder weapon. "Do you ever wonder where stiletto heels got their name?" Castle wonders aloud as Beckett puts a hand on his arm to steady herself as she slips her feet into the shoes.

Beckett shrugs. "Someone decided it sounded more sexy than letter opener heels." She adds a wrap to her ensemble and grabs a handbag that looks something like a waffle iron. "Okay, let's go."

"You know, when I tell Mother to be ready by seven, it means she'll be ready by seven thirty. We have plenty of time." Castle's trying for vaguely suggestive, but the put-upon look Beckett throws him is as much reward as he's going to get.

"You know that if we wait, it guarantees that we won't be able to find a cab when we leave," Beckett responds, and Castle nods in agreement. The duo exits the apartment, Beckett stopping to lock the door behind her, and approaches the elevator, where two very large men are disembarking.

The man with the crew cut exchanges glances with the one with a bandage over his nose. "You're early," Crew Cut tells Castle as they move to stand next to Castle and Beckett. Bandage Nose neatly grabs Beckett's bag before she can extract anything from it.

"You both come with us, nobody gets hurt," Crew Cut informs Castle and Beckett, towering over the pair as he and his companion shepherd writer and detective towards the elevator.

"If I'd known I was going to get this much grief for being early, I would have shown up an hour later," Castle complains as the elevator doors close.

"I want you to know that I did not kill Quincey Morris," the tall, painfully skinny man sitting at the table the back of the tiny restaurant tells Castle and Beckett after they are escorted into his presence, speaking with a heavy eastern European accent. Their escorts have taken a few steps back, deferring to the skinny man.

Castle and Beckett look at each other and back at the skinny man. Beckett takes half a step forward, anger brimming in her eyes. "I don't know who you think you are, but abducting a police officer is a pretty serious offense."

"I am hurt, Detective Beckett," the man tells Beckett, pronouncing each word carefully. "You do not recognize me? They tell me Bela Teppes is the prime suspect in your investigation of the death of Quincey Morris, and yet, you do not recognize him when you see him? I try to be modern, you understand, to admit that women have a place in a man's world, and yet, a man would know his enemy. A man would have read my file and would have considered my photograph. A man would have come to talk to me, to find out where he stands with me, not dismissed me like a schoolteacher."

"Mr. Teppes, is it?" Beckett responds, her voice calm in spite of the anger in her eyes. The thin man nods once. "I've never heard of you. I've never heard of your Mr. Morris either. So if any case involving either Mr. Morris or yourself cross my desk, then I would be happy to discuss your lack of involvement in his death. But until then, I really have no idea what you're talking about."

"Do not play games with me, Detective Beckett." Teppes tells her dispassionately.

"I have a suggestion for a game," Castle pipes up. "It's a variation on 'Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?' Only this version only is called 'Where in New York is Quincy Morris?' I read about Mr. Morris in the paper. He was killed in Washington Heights, right?" Knowing he's right, Castle doesn't bother waiting for a response. "Detective Beckett? Remind me. Washington Heights is the Twentieth Precinct or the Twenty-First?"

"Depends on exactly where the body was found." Beckett answers. "Could be either one." She looks directly at Teppes now. "But it's sure not the Twelfth Precinct. Where I'm assigned."

Teppes spits out a curse word in his native tongue and starts a rapid-fire conversation with his minions in the same language. After a few minutes, Teppes turns his attention back to his guests while Crew Cut disappears out the front of the restaurant. "Detective Beckett, Mr. Castle, you have my sincerest apologies. I was misinformed as to your involvement. My man has gone to hail you a cab, and you should not be late to your charitable dinner. Detective, if I could bother you to pass my message along whomever amongst your colleagues is actually working the Quincy Morris case, I will not bother them in a similar manner."

"Of course," Beckett agrees, flummoxed.

"Tell me, what is the charity that benefits from your time this evening?" Teppes inquires.

"It's called A Right to Read, a literacy program for kids in juvenile detention." Castle explains.

"This sounds like a respectable endeavor. To make up for tonight's inconvenience, I shall donate to this charity. Anonymously, of course, so the money is not considered tainted. And now, I see that Igor has found you a cab. You must go, so that you are not late." And with that, Bandage Nose escorts them from the restaurant to their waiting cab.

"Yo, where to?" asks the cabbie, a scrawny young man who doesn't look old enough to drive. The patch of fuzz that's crawled across his upper lip looks fake, like one good yank would remove the entire thing.

"The Biltmore Hotel," Castle instructs the youngster. The cab accelerates at an alarming rate in the general direction of the Biltmore.

"You know the Romanian mafia? 'Cause that restaurant, that's where they hang out. My girlfriend's cousin's husband's mother, she's a cook there. They got really good food, too. Don't let the mafia thing scare you, neither. The Romanian mafia in New York is like five guys. Of course, they're dangerous, like real Mafia, but as long as you don't cross them, they treat you right. And they let regular people eat in their restaurant too. 'Cause me, I'm not in the Romanian mafia. That's on account of that I'm not Romanian. My girlfriend, Stazi, she's Romanian, and she's a beaut. Prettiest girl in New York. No offense, lady, 'cause you're quite the looker too, you know, but I got my loyalty. I mean, if I was in the mafia, I guess it would be the New Jersey mafia. On account of I'm from Jersey. I don't live there no more, but I got my loyalty. Just like them Romanians, even though they don't live in Romania no more. I guess if me and Stazi ever get married, that would make me half-Romanian. Then I could join the Romanian mafia or the New Jersey mafia. Or maybe both. Like dual citizenship! Hey mister, when you folks got hitched, did you get dual citizenship?" The cabbie pauses, apparently waiting for an answer.

"No, I'm afraid not," Castle replies with a grin. "We're both New Yorkers."

Beckett's coughing into her hand, trying with only moderate success to suppress her laughter.

"Hey, the Biltmore's where there's that charity thing for A Right to Read, right? They helped me out real good. They're how come I got a job as a cabbie instead of turning to a life of crime." The cab suddenly swerves, as they start heading in an entirely new direction. "My momma called me up today, said 'Alphonse' - that's me, I'm Alphonse - she said, Alphonse, they invited Mr. Perry - Mr. Perry's my probation officer- they invited him to that charity deal, he's gonna talk about all the good it does. Momma and Mr. Perry, they got to be friends. She sends him a fruitcake for Christmas and everything. Between Momma and Mr. Perry, I owe them everything I am today. Well, Momma says that if I don't have no fares, that I should pick up Mr. Perry and take him to the party. So's I figure, since you're going to the Biltmore anyhow, I can drop by real quick and pick up Mr. Perry. Don't worry, he won't disturb you folks none, he'll ride up front with me."

"We are running a little late," Castle tells Alphonse.

"You got no worries. I know a shortcut. I mean, maybe you should'a gotten started a little bit earlier, on account of traffic this time of day and all, but I can work with that. And there's no squirrels along my shortcut, so that'll go faster. I always brake for squirrels. I kinda had a pet squirrel when I was a kid. Momma wouldn't let me let Pongo inside, but I fed him nuts and had a little dirt windowbox where he could bury his nuts for the winter. So we pick up Mr. Perry, and we take my shortcut, and I get you there before it starts, no problem. Hey, maybe you can meet that writer guy, whatizname, King or Queen or something. He's supposed to be at that charity gig, him and that New York cop he wrote about. You can get your picture took with them, they're one of the big draws. I read his book, it's real good. I mean, some of the mystery stuff, that goes over my head, but the action parts are real edge-of-your-seat stuff, and the sexy stuff is real hot. You think this writer really slept with that lady cop? Because that would be really cool." Alphonse is making his opinion known while the cab careens through the streets at speeds Beckett would have sworn were impossible in New York even with lights and a siren.

"No, I don't think he slept with the cop. Maybe they just didn't have that spark," Castle responds, throwing an amused glance at Beckett who is once again rolling her eyes.

"Maybe she wasn't interested," Beckett suggests, a smirk stealing across her lips. "Maybe he didn't live up to her standards."

"Oh, no, lady, you gotta read this book. You don't write a romantical-like chemistry like that unless there's some serious sparkage going on. And that was like, three years ago, and if they're goin' to this charity thing together, then there's no question that they're an item. There's like a statue of limitations on not sleeping with someone that you're sparking with, and that's gotta have come and gone by now, don'cha think?"

"It could be," Castle considers, "That the statue of limitations for that is coming up pretty soon. It would be a shame to let it expire, don't you think, Beckett?"

"Maybe the statute of limitations on romantic liaisons is like meeting a deadline or getting to a party when it starts; some writers just don't have what it takes to make it on time," Beckett suggests.

"I'll have you know, Beckett, that I am extremely punctual. But it's a well-known fact that deadlines are more what you'd call 'guidelines' than actual rules."

"According to the Code of the Procrastinators Society?"

"No, nobody's gotten around to writing those down yet."

The cab screeches to a halt in front of a run-down apartment building, Alphonse honking his horn twice and leaping out of the cab. He rushes up to an older man wearing a plaid cap who is standing on the stoop of the building. Alphonse carefully assists the man, who walks with a cane, down the steps of the building. He hands the man into the front passenger seat and skips around to the driver's seat when a young woman opens the front passenger door and shoves her way in, forcing the older man to the center of the bench seat. A second young woman, identical to the first in every way, suddenly opens the door next to Castle, pointing a tiny handgun at him.

"Shove over," she orders Castle, who immediately complies, and the woman gets into the cab with them.

The first woman is also armed. "Drive. The Holland Tunnel," she instructs Alphonse, who takes off at his usual breakneck pace. "We almost missed you. You're early."

Castle does his best Beckett imitation and rolls his eyes. "I tell you, Beckett, the Procrastinator's Society is going to hear about this. Being early is highly overrated."

After about five minutes, the silence gets to be too much for Castle. "I think it's time for introductions! The first time we were abducted tonight, the bad guys were easy to tell apart. Crew Cut and Bandage Nose. Although it turns out that Crew Cut's real name was Igor. Or was it Bandage Nose? I forget. Now, the two of you, you're not so easy to tell apart. Identical twins, am I right? I can't very well call you Front Seat and Back Seat, now can I? What if you trade places? I'd never know."

"Shut up," Back Seat tells Castle, waving her gun in a display of force.

"Castle, shush," Beckett hisses at him, her hand grabbing his knee.

"No, no, if the two of you are going to murder the four of us, then I really feel it's for the best that we all get to know each other first."

"Who said anything about murder?" Front Seat demands, her glance flickering back at Castle.

"Oh, come on. It doesn't take a genius to see what you two are planning. Alphonse here - that's our driver tonight, by the way - is a very bright young man. He's something of a fan of the mystery and spy genres. Alphonse, can you enlighten us as to why a clever detective or agent would identify this setup as a murder as opposed to a simple carjacking?" Castle's started fidgeting with a pen he's taken out of his pocket, and for a moment Beckett thinks he's going to start taking notes for his next book.

"Oh yeah, sure, that's easy," Alphonse responds gamely. "First off, we seen their faces. That ain't good. It means they're not expecting us to be around to pick 'em out of a lineup or a mug book later. Now, sometimes carjackers they just count on people being too scared to identify them later. But identical twins? There can't be too many of those in the mug books. But then here's the real kicker. They said I was early. That means that they knew I was comin' there tonight. So they wasn't just holding up the first cab they saw tonight, they wanted us special. And that means one of us is a target. You chicks should know, though, that Mr. Perry's a probation officer. You kill him, that's like killing a cop. Cops don't like it when you off one of their own." Alphonse seems blissfully unconcerned about his own prospects.

"Excellent! First rate, Alphonse, we'll make a detective out of you yet. And very subtle of you not to mention your own connection to the Romanian mafia. Now, although we haven't met before, I assume that you are Mr. Perry, the probation officer for Alphonse and one or both of these young women."

"I am, sir. Edmund Perry. I want to apologize. Alphonse was instructed to pick me up only if he did not have a previous engagement. It was very poor manners for him to take paying passengers out of their way to pick me up. Alphonse knows better than that."

"Sorry, Mr. Perry," Alphonse says sheepishly.

"Don't apologize to me, Alphonse, apologize to your paying passengers that are likely going to get killed for your impertinence."

"Don't worry about it, Alphonse, the night's not over yet," Castle reassures him.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Beckett breathes into Castle's ear.

"Just wait for your cue," Castle murmurs, covering her hand with his own briefly before moving it away. He's managed to wedge Beckett's handbag between them, so neither Back Seat nor Front Seat can get a clear look at it.

"And these two lovely young ladies. Would you care to introduce them to the rest of us, Mr. Perry?" Castle suggests.

"This one here," Mr. Perry inclines his head towards front seat. "Is Delphinium Smith. Her sister, next to you, is Chrysanthemum."

Castle winces. "I can see why you turned to a life of crime."

"Shut up," Chrysanthemum repeats, waving her gun again.

"I'm afraid that this is all due to my recent discovery that Finni has not been attending her most recent meetings with me, and sending Chrys in her stead, pretending to be Finni. After this afternoon's meeting, I was certain of it. I foolishly confronted Chrys, telling her I would report Finni in the morning. She must have overheard me earlier, making plans with Alphonse's mother for Alphonse to give me a ride to the benefit tonight," Mr. Perry explains, sounding tired.

"I can't afford to get my probation revoked," Finni tells him angrily. "My boyfriend will hook up with that cow that lives next door to him if I'm not around to protect what's mine."

"Why didn't you just show up at your meetings?" Mr. Perry asks.

"Chrys only went instead of me when I was sick," Finni argues defensively.

"And by 'sick' you mean drunk or hung over." Mr. Perry quickly assessed. "What about those alcohol abuse meetings you signed up for?"

"They were boring! And they kept telling me they knew how I felt. They don't know nothing."

"And speaking of knowing nothing, allow me to introduce myself. Richard Castle, bestselling novelist," Castle announces smugly. He waits for a moment, but nobody reacts. "No one? Award-winning children's book, Squirrel in Ten, Alphonse? How disappointing. And now, only one more introduction to make. Let me introduce Kate Beckett, a fine representative of the ..." Castle pauses as Alphonse slams on the brakes in the middle of the block, hurtling everyone in the cab forward. Castle takes the opportunity to stab Chrys in the hand with his pen, grabbing her gun as he does so, but the first sound everyone hears after the cab has stopped is the sound of Beckett's gun being cocked as she points it at Delphinium, sitting in front of her.

"N.Y.P.D., drop your weapon or I'll shoot." Beckett orders, and Finni reluctantly complies.

"I'll never complain about commuting again," Castle comments as he and Beckett emerge from the Biltmore, nearly the last to leave their charitable benefit.

"Liar," Beckett tells him, smiling.

"Shall I have the doorman hail us a cab?" Castle offers.

"I'm not sure if I'm up to another cab ride tonight." Beckett sighs.

"Would you ... like to stay here?" Castle sounds almost hopeful, and Beckett turns around to consider the elegant hotel front.

"Tempting," Beckett admits, cocking her head at Castle. "But what would people say?"

"They'd say you swept me off my feet," Castle grins.

"But Castle, I don't think you'd enjoy spending the night in the broom closet."

"Why would I spend the night in the broom closet?

"Because that's where you go after you've been swept up."

"Not exactly what I had in mind," Castle tells her, "but if that's what you want, I'll see if I can book a broom closet for two. It might be fun."

Beckett shakes her head in resignation. "I think it's time for this public servant to go home and sleep. I'll see you tomorrow, Castle."

"Until the morning, then." Castle regards Beckett, his eyes twinkling.

"And Castle? Don't be late."