120. Chapter 120

After Linchpin

By

UCSBdad

Disclaimer: Would the world change if I claimed to own Castle? I won't try to find out. Rating: K+. Time: See above.

Rick Castle took a sip of Scotch and looked out his window at New York. I just might have saved you, New York. How about a little appreciation? Maybe I saved the whole US. More likely the whole world. Whoever was willing to pay to start World War Three and kill millions of people to increase their own power are not the kind of people I want running the world. And even if Blakeley's plans were nothing more than complex, academic bullshit, I still saved a little girl's life today.

No, that's wrong. Beckett and Danberg saved a little girl's life today and maybe the whole world. So one of these days my grandchildren will ask me, "What did you do in the great World War Three that never happened, Granddad?" And I can say, "Why I helped Sophia Turner who was intent on starting that very war, kids." Yes, I helped find Blakely so that Sophia could kill him and I brought Gage in out of the cold so Sophia could kill him. Why if I had been just a little more helpful, New York City would be one giant pile of radioactive rubble, glowing in the dark. Sophia told me I was the same reckless, self-centered jackass I always was. She was not only right, she was counting on me being exactly that. Rick Castle was going to save the day with his friend in the CIA and all the CIA's cool toys. At least that's what I thought. And she was going to kill me and Beckett because I was that reckless, self-centered jackass who couldn't resist having to know the story. The whole story. I've saved Beckett's life before, I've even gone with her into danger but I never walked right into anything with my eyes closes tightly and no idea what was actually going on, and almost gotten her killed. At least if Sophia had killed us, I wouldn't have had to have lived the rest of my life knowing that I'd stupidly gotten Beckett killed. I froze when Sophia was shot. Froze like a rookie. All I could think about was that my stupidity almost got Kate killed. How can I ever make up for that?

Sophia was my muse. She was nothing like Beckett is as a muse, of course. No one could be like Beckett. She's remarkable and unique. But there I was. I was just a damned kid, not long out of college with a couple of books under my belt and there I was, with an actual CIA agent. Learning all about tradecraft and all about all the cool toys the CIA has. Cool toys. What a laugh. What good did their damned tools do them this time? I've been with Beckett long enough to know that those cool toys don't mean shit. And I know what Beckett means, both to the NYPD and to me.

I never loved Sophia. Oh, I liked her and I admired her and to tell the truth, the sex was great. But love, no, it was never that. But the pain of finding out that it was all a lie was bad enough. She was Clara Strike and I was Derek Storm. Okay, I was the Derek Storm that I'd like to be in my dreams, Clara was the real person. At least I made Beckett into the very best fictional detective I could manage. I didn't do her justice, since she's ten times as smart, dedicated, passionate and savvy as Nikki Heat is, but I sure hope that the world remembers Nikki long after they've forgotten Clara.

And that brings us to Beckett. Three years in and I have no idea where I stand with that woman. That day at the swings she told me about her walls. Okay, I know she's had a hard time. I know she's become a near fanatic on the subject of her mom's murder. A smart man would leave. A smart man would realize that there were a lot of women out there that could….Could what? Make me love them like I love Beckett? Even if I didn't love Beckett, I can't leave now. I'm the guy who started her personal dominos falling by looking into her mom's case in the first place. She got shot because I did that. She's in danger right now. She's alive because I protect her. And one day she'll find something about that murder and she'll be off and running. What the hell will I do then?

Sometimes I wish I was still Rick Rodgers. I wish I was anything but a world famous and wealthy author, shadowing a kick ass New York detective. But I am who and what I am and I need to get up tomorrow and go out there and do what I need to do.

Kate Beckett took a sip of red wine. Poor Castle. His first muse tries to kill him. What must that feel like? To know that someone who was important in your life was lying to you the whole way. I can find out of course. All I have to do is tell him that I've been lying to him about not knowing that he told me he loves me. I remember when Sophia was shot. Castle just laid there on the floor, too stunned to move. Normally, he'd have been right on my tail as we raced to save that little girl. But not this time. Danberg and I had that killer outside and ready for a CIA retrieval team by the time Castle showed up, looking more shaken than I've ever seen him. I've seen him almost get killed before, but he never looked like that before. How can I ever tell him that I've been lying this whole time? I can't tell him. All I can do is get up tomorrow and try to work myself into a place where I can tell him how much I love him. Then it won't matter.

The man rode his horse up the steep and narrow path to the small village nested in a valley between towering, snow-capped mountains. He made sure he made plenty of noise so the man he sought would not think he was trying to sneak up on him. As he rounded a steep bend, he saw the man sitting outside of a small hut, his AK 47 across his lap. He doubtlessly had friends out of sight. The horseman drew up to the house and dismounted.

"God is great, Hadj." He said in Pushtun.

The man nodded. "God is indeed great, Uthman. Will you have tea?"

Uthman nodded gladly. No Pushtun would offer hospitality and then kill him. He drank the tea and said, "Our friend gave me a written message for you. I do not know what it says, but he said it is about your son."

The tall, spare man with the white hair and beard took the message and read it.

"Is there some problem with your son?" Uthman asked.

"No. But others will now have problems." He gripped his AK 47 tighter.