Castle had stayed behind at the parking garage while CSU swept the scene once, then twice. When they came back empty-handed, Shaw had ordered them to go over it again and a couple of them had grumbled about not getting paid overtime to be federal lackeys -- but they'd at least had the foresight to do it when they were out of earshot of the female agent. Castle'd had mixed feelings about Beckett's forced leave of absence. On the one hand, he agreed with Shaw: Beckett needed a break. She'd been running down leads in her sleep, trying to make impossible connections, and Castle had more than once caught her with her nose pressed close to the precinct's whiteboard, as if she believed the thing was actually going to talk to her.
On the other hand, watching Beckett slump into the SUV was like watching a favourite sports hero strike out at the bottom of the ninth. It stung. There was no way Castle could guess exactly how she was feeling, but he had a couple of speculative guesses. Not being included made Beckett want to go buggo -- either that, or she'd already started to dig in deeper, determined not to be underused.
Which is why, at nearly eleven o'clock at night, Castle hails a cab for her side of town. He's got a bottle of good French wine under his arm because, hell, if she thinks she's being underused, she can at least use his wine cellar to come to terms with it.
The street is empty when the cab sidles up to the curb. Castle pays the driver and gets out, sweeping a look up and down the street. He knows that the feds are paid to be inconspicuous, but this is ridiculous. It doesn't even look like these guys are here. He glances up the facade of Beckett's building. Lights are burning on the second floor, and her curtains are drawn. A good, upright, well-reared girl like Beckett knows better than to leave her lights on when she's not around; she's gotta' be home. He hugs the bottle of wine beneath his arm and goes inside, puffing (but only a little) on the short flight of stairs.
He's compulsively checking corners and dark hallways. What are you going to do if you actually run into someone? Download a gun-shaped app?
Castle makes it all the way to her door before he realizes he's got an even bigger problem:
How in the hell is he gonna' explain why he's here in the middle of the night, with a bottle of wine?
no subject
On the other hand, watching Beckett slump into the SUV was like watching a favourite sports hero strike out at the bottom of the ninth. It stung. There was no way Castle could guess exactly how she was feeling, but he had a couple of speculative guesses. Not being included made Beckett want to go buggo -- either that, or she'd already started to dig in deeper, determined not to be underused.
Which is why, at nearly eleven o'clock at night, Castle hails a cab for her side of town. He's got a bottle of good French wine under his arm because, hell, if she thinks she's being underused, she can at least use his wine cellar to come to terms with it.
The street is empty when the cab sidles up to the curb. Castle pays the driver and gets out, sweeping a look up and down the street. He knows that the feds are paid to be inconspicuous, but this is ridiculous. It doesn't even look like these guys are here. He glances up the facade of Beckett's building. Lights are burning on the second floor, and her curtains are drawn. A good, upright, well-reared girl like Beckett knows better than to leave her lights on when she's not around; she's gotta' be home. He hugs the bottle of wine beneath his arm and goes inside, puffing (but only a little) on the short flight of stairs.
He's compulsively checking corners and dark hallways. What are you going to do if you actually run into someone? Download a gun-shaped app?
Castle makes it all the way to her door before he realizes he's got an even bigger problem:
How in the hell is he gonna' explain why he's here in the middle of the night, with a bottle of wine?