Co-authored with sparklemouse

Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

AN: This is 90% written so updates will be coming fairly quickly.

For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

Matthew 6:19-24

Kate can't stop the tiny smile that creeps across her lips as she approaches the building. She tamps it down, pushes the memories to the back of her mind, tries to focus her attention on the task at hand.

Mr. Castle?

Where would you like it?

Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD. We need to ask you a few questions about a murder that took place earlier tonight.

She fights the urge to pull out her phone and text him on the elevator ride up to the rooftop bar. He's working today, doing his actual job, and though she wants nothing more than to distract him with a trip down memory lane, she resists. He's weeks behind on his edits and she's certainly not going to give him yet another reason to procrastinate.

The elevator opens and she steps out, eyes quickly flicking over the scene. Ryan and Esposito are standing near the bar, their backs to her, speaking in low tones to a couple of men whom she assumes are the owner and an employee. The hair on her neck prickles as she observes the room, taking in the lack of uniforms and crime scene techs. The only other people in the room, in fact, are the four men standing next to the bar and the corpse laid out on top of it.

"What do we have, guys?"

Ryan turns to her first, his blue eyes shining, notebook open in his hand. "Hey, Beckett," he calls, a little too cheerfully. "Take a look and see for yourself."

Kate moves toward the bar, catches Esposito elbowing Ryan in her peripheral vision.

"Stop smiling so damn much, bro."

"I can't help it. I'm excited."

"Sometimes you disgust me, honey milk."

Tuning them out, she approaches the body, her eyes scanning up and down the bar as her brain tries desperately to process what she's seeing. Rose petals. Sunflowers. A plastic sheen on the victim's skin. What the hell is going on here?

She whips to look at Ryan and Esposito, takes in their defensive postures and shifting eyes. Something is definitely off. Knowing Ryan as the weaker of the two, she zeroes in on him, her eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring. "Ryan? You called me with this. Did you fail to notice that the victim is a mannequin?"

"No?"

"So, you saw that there wasn't actually a homicide victim on the premises but decided to call me down here anyway?"

"Look at the body, Beckett," Esposito interjects, crossing his arms over his chest. "Look familiar?"

Kate's not an idiot; of course it looks familiar. It looked familiar the moment she walked into the room and found Alison Tisdale, with rose petals on her body, sunflowers perfectly placed over her eyes like it was nothing more than a dream. Nothing more than falling asleep with one of Castle's books beside her like she so often did after her mother was murdered. It's a déjà vu of memories: the body that led her to Castle, the first place they officially met.

She looks up at the boys. Ryan is grinning like an idiot and Esposito is rolling his eyes at him but looks mildly amused and she really has no idea what's going on except their case load has been light and Castle likes to play and he's probably here somewhere waiting to pull a practical joke except -

Except this feels different somehow.

"Okay, guys, what's going on?"

Ryan extends a white envelope to her, nearly giddy. "We'll see you later, Beckett."

The room is cleared before she can even open her mouth, give birth to the questions gestating in the base of her throat. Kate stares down at the letter, her name scrawled across the front in Castle's slanting handwriting. She sits down at the bar, wonders briefly if this was where he was standing on that night almost six years ago. She looks around for a moment, remembers so perfectly the books that were on the counter telling her so much about Alexis in those first few seconds, the amused look on his face like he was nothing more than a child in a grown man's body. Her lips curve as she slides her finger under the flap of the envelope, pulls out the letter.

Kate,

I can picture the look on your face right now. An amused grin dancing on your lips that you're trying hard to suppress with false mask of consternation and exasperation. Oh, did you just sigh? So maybe the consternation and exasperation aren't entirely false but they're certainly not as real as the delight sparking in your eyes.

I'm sure you've figured out by now that there wasn't actually a murder. Well, not in the bar at least. I'm sure somewhere in this great big city of ours, some poor unfortunate soul has lost their life but today you're going to let the justice seeking be someone else's job. (Don't roll your eyes, Beckett. We both know you secretly like it when I take charge and tell you what to do.) Today, you're going to take a little trip with me.

(What kind of trip? You'll figure that out shortly, I'm sure, what with your well above average detecting skills.)

Five years, Kate. Five years and hundreds of cases together and still you manage to surprise me on an almost daily basis, a feat which is as amazing as it is annoying (two feelings I'm sure you're quite familiar with as well after dealing with me for this long). Some days I feel like I know you better than I've ever known another person, including myself, and others I feel like I've hardly scratched the surface. I wouldn't change it, though. I love the way you reveal pieces of yourself to me, whether intentional or not. It's a game I've enjoyed immensely over the years; analyzing our conversations and parsing for subtext, for some little nick that will allow me to gain purchase and peel off another layer of the Beckett onion.

You made it all the way through the Castle onion (That metaphor is really getting old. And making me hungry.) years ago. Not that there were that many layers to peel. That's not to say that I'm shallow - at least not overly so - but I never put much effort into keeping who I really am from you. I suppose I knew there was little point in that. You saw through me from the start, Kate. Well, okay, maybe not the exact start but shortly thereafter.

And that's your first stop on this little journey. The place where you looked at me with those beautiful, assessing eyes and discovered that maybe I was more than just a pain in your ass playboy novelist. The place where you realized that above all else, I was a man who loved his daughter.

(If you need a hint, just remember to look for the nannies.)

I love you.

RC

Slowly, she reads back over the letter, her eyes tracing over the sloping loops and sharp slashes, picturing the look of sheer delight he must have been wearing when writing it. She closes her eyes, presses it against her chest. She has a feeling she knows where this is going to end today, what this little puzzle of his is all about and there's a part of her that wants to call him, confirm her suspicions. She looks at his words again, letting them settle inside of her, ease the pounding of her heart. No. He has a plan for her and for once she's going to let go and play along. She folds the letter up, slides it back into the envelope.

The park - and his adventure - await.