So, it's been a long while. My life has been quite full of things that have distracted me from updating sooner, but I'm still very attached to this story. I was actually inspired to finish this chapter after watching last Monday's Castle and seeing the tumblr backlash for the explanation of why Castle disappeared. To be honest, I liked the episode well enough. I hadn't really been expecting anything more than that just because the hole seemed too deep to fill in an entirely satisfying way. I tend to be personally offended when people attack Richard Castle (especially if it's in conjunction with Beckett praise), so that fire lit the way for a Paved With Good Intentions update. Yay!

I hope some of you guys are still with me! Your support means so very much to me, through reviews and tumblr messages and twitter notifications. I'm still feeling pretty motivated to write, so hopefully it won't take so long to get to the next chapter. :)

The weeks that follow that warehouse shooting are a hell she could never have imagined.

She visits Pulgatti on two separate occasions, even tries to bug Gary McCallister in prison too, but he won't speak a word to her. Pulgatti on the other hand has plenty of answers to give, and as much as she wishes it weren't true, everything he says just backs up Castle's assumption. A third cop, young kid, kidnapping for hire.

And Richard Castle, that bastard, she doesn't hear anything from him. He's probably off God-knows-where exacting vigilante justice on God-knows-who. Maybe she should be glad he's out of her hair now, but given the information he left in her lap before disappearing into thin air, it just pisses her off.

"Detective, are you listening to me?"

She's startled out of her thoughts by her captain's voice. Her captain, her long-time confidant, and now? Beckett meets his eyes reluctantly, and it's like she barely recognizes him anymore. Just who has she pledged her loyalty for all these years?

"What was that, Sir?"

Montgomery sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger. "You've been officially cleared for the warehouse shooting." He slaps a folder on his desk, and she opens it. "Just a little more paperwork to sort through. Even though certain suspicions arose when ballistics couldn't match the bullet that killed Lockwood to your gun, the cases found at the scene didn't come from a registered firearm. We can all just assume that Hal Lockwood got caught in friendly fire. That is, unless you have any other theories."

Isn't that a loaded question. There was a time when lying to her captain would have been unthinkable. But now- "None at all. You have my last report."

"Then it's settled."

"Good," she says simply. "Can I go now?"

"Kate," Montgomery reprimands, his distress evident. She doesn't care. Let him hurt. "You haven't...seemed like yourself lately. Is there something I should be concerned about?"

"I'm fine, Sir. It's just that Hal Lockwood is a sore subject, all things considered."

"Of course." He nods, not buying the excuse for a moment. "If there's anything I can do, Beckett, please don't be afraid to ask. We've known each other long enough for that."

But that's just it. How can she go about asking? Right now, this stalemate will hold, but eventually, something has to give. The other shoe is going to drop, and when that day comes, she wants to be the one in control.

The scenarios play out when she goes to sleep. Sometimes her captain is tearful and begging for forgiveness. Explanations spill out of his mouth like a flood, and she stares on without feeling. Other times, they face each other, guns drawn. Montgomery embodies Vulcan Simmons with mocking words and wicked smiles.

Once, Castle is there. He stands behind her and presses a knife into her hand. She takes up the weight without hesitation. The blade feels cool against the skin of her palm, and somehow she knows it's the same one that Coonan used to kill her mother. Castle's lips are at her ear. Take it, he whispers. If anyone deserves justice, it's you, so take it.

The dream ends there. It's not one she wants to repeat.

"Yo, Beckett, we got a body. I talked to Lanie, and it sounds pretty freaky."

Solving a case might be just what she needs to clear her head. She sends an eyeroll Esposito's way. "Well, you know how I like the weird ones."

"Yeah, boss," Ryan pipes up, already heading towards the elevator. "The killers out there aim to please."

As cathartic as murder is - wouldn't Castle just love to hear her say that - thoughts of her mother come slinking back in as she lies in her tub.

Johanna Beckett had a love for bubble baths. Kate knows because she saw the way her mom's eyes would light up when she unwrapped a bottle of her favorite soap. How effervescent she looked after a long soak when she came to read her daughter a bedtime story, hair still damp. Kate would press her nose into her mother's shoulder and breathe in the smell of lavender.

The funny thing is, she didn't take many bubble baths as a child. In fact, bathing was one of her least favorite activities. It was always a struggle for Johanna to get squirming Katie Beckett into a tub.

But now she loves them. The feel of the water, the smell, a glass of red wine, and a good book. It's a recipe for pure bliss.

The detective sighs, yanking the plug from the drain. Whether the memories are good or bad doesn't make a difference. Doesn't change the fact that she's between a rock and a hard place right now and needs to make a game plan.

Water from the bath beads down Kate's legs as she stands, and she snags a towel off the rack to dry. The air outside of the tub is cool and turns her arms to gooseflesh. She steps out onto the mat and faces the mirror.

Is that her face? Did she look like this a month ago? Back when Roy Montgomery was just her supportive captain and not a suspect for a crime that's plagued her over a decade. A year ago? Before she'd ever met Richard Castle. The bags under her eyes speak of late nights and lost sleep.

What is she doing? What is her game plan?

"Hello, Sir," she speaks aloud, addressing her reflection. "I have a few questions pertaining to my mother's murder. Specifically about your involvement in it."

"Detective Beckett." Her voice deepens comically, eyebrows furrowing. "Why in the world would you make such an accusation?"

"Well, you see, I've actually been investigating my mother's murder alongside Richard Castle. You remember, the Copycat Vigilante, the serial killer. And he said - ugh."

Kate bows, hands cradling her head and elbows resting on the sink.

"What a mess."

Her phone trills from the bedroom, so she pads across the floor, leaving damp footprints in her wake. It's an unknown caller. She debates letting it go to voicemail, but she's a detective. It could be important.

"Hello?"

"Kate." A drop of water travels down her neck, and she shivers so violently that her teeth chatter. After two months of silence, he 's back. Richard Castle. She can't speak. "Hello? Are you there? Kate, please. I-I need to see you."

Shit. "W-where are you right now?"

"Oh, I thought you might have hung up on me," he laughs anxiously before giving her the name of a street that she recognizes. He's in Manhattan, in Washington Heights.

"Castle, what are you doing there?" He doesn't respond. A gust of wind picks up in the background, and the reception crackles eerily. "Tell me there's not a body."

"I...didn't want to. I didn't have a choice."

It's like she's back in that warehouse all over again, watching his bloody hands shake over Lockwood, beside himself with panic. "Oh god. What did you do? Never mind, just stay put. I'll be there in fifteen."

Beckett throws her phone on the bed and lets her towel drop to the floor. She dresses quickly. Jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket. Her mother's ring? She feels around her neck for it. No, she took it off to bathe. It's in her jewelry box. Once the necklace is clipped around her neck, she grabs her shoes, badge, holster, and gun.

Ready or not.

She finds him crouched and shivering in an alley, pitiful. On the ground a few feet away, haphazardly covered in newspaper, is a very large but very dead man.

"What happened here?"

The Copycat Vigilante blinks up at her...and says nothing.

"Castle!" she hisses, kicking his leg with her boot, hard. Now is so not the time for games. "Are you with me?"

"Your hair is wet," he starts at the slam of her toe into his calf. And then, in a delayed reaction, "Ouch, Beckett. That hurt."

"Why did you call me?" growls Kate, ignoring his protest. "Why are you here? Who is this guy?" He hesitates. "I had just gotten out of a bath when you called me out of the blue and disturbed my night after a very long day of work. So for the love of God, explain to me what's going on."

"...out of the bath?"

"Castle." She doesn't want to know what thoughts his brain is conjuring up.

"Sorry. It's been a long day for me too. This story might take a while to tell," he says, wincing. "Longer than we have in this particular area before someone notices. Well, you know."

Before someone notices them having a conversation over a body.

"Give me the abridged version then. Before the police get here and we're both in handcuffs."

"You could have called them if you wanted to." He rubs his chin between forefinger and thumb. "I gave you the address. You could have told the cops where I was, and I wouldn't have had time to run. I would have been waiting for you. But you didn't make that call."

"You," she balks. "You said Washington Heights. My mother's initiative, Vulcan Simmons. I had to...I had to know."

Her excuse is lousy. Because when she picked up the phone and he was on the other end, the thought of tricking him, of getting the address and letting another precinct ambush him…

It never even crossed her mind.

Thanks for reading, friends. Leave me a review to let me know you're still out there?