By the time they stroll into the precinct, laden down with bags of Chinese food from Yang's Happy Wok, Ryan and Esposito have managed to track down James Restrepo.

More than just track him down, actually. They've got him in interrogation one and they're letting him sweat. Primed and ready for you, Esposito tells her.

"How'd you find him?" Beckett asks as the four of them lean against the table in the observation room, each digging chopsticks into a different carton.

Her boys exchange a glance, and then Ryan speaks through a mouthful of Kung Pao Beef.

"Turns out at least part of the story Elena Ramirez told you was true. Narcotics had Restrepo on their radar. They'd been keeping an eye on him and knew exactly where he was."

Castle sets down his chopsticks, handing Kate the container of wontons they'd been passing back and forth between them.

"So it was drugs after all?" he says, and she can't help but smile a little at the disappointed look on his face. He wants excitement, he wants intrigue – he wants a story. And drugs apparently don't meet his criteria.

Esposito nods.

"In part, at least. I don't know why I didn't think of it before, but Diego…it's the Spanish equivalent of James."

The writer's eyes light up.

"So he is Diego Restrepo?"

The Hispanic detective nods again.

"We ran checks, and there's no record of a Diego Restrepo in any of the systems. For all intents and purposes, James Restrepo is his legal name, at least in this country. But it turns out he still holds a Colombian passport under his birth name – Diego Luis Restrepo de la Rosa."

They turn to watch the man through the two-way mirror. He looks haggard, but composed, exactly what one might expect of a man whose mother has just died.

"So what does Narcotics have on him?" Beckett asks, reaching over to swipe an eggroll from the carton in Castle's hands. The writer smiles and slides the paper box closer to her, letting their fingers brush briefly. The boys don't even take notice.

Huh. Maybe she and Castle have been acting like a couple longer than they've actually been one. So as long as she doesn't lay one on him in the middle of the bullpen, maybe they can keep this a secret for a little bit.

It's somewhat reassuring for dignity's sake, especially since she couldn't keep the smile off her face after Castle ended the call with Alexis earlier.

Just relief, she told herself.

Not anything to do with the hope in the girl's voice when she said she'd "see you guys later," nor with the strength of her partner's hands as he rubbed away the tension in her shoulders while they stood in a secluded corner of the restaurant, waiting for their food.

No, nothing to do with those things at all.

"International drug trafficking," Ryan explains and it takes Kate a moment to recall the details of the conversation going on around her. "And actually, they've been watching him, but haven't been able to nail him on anything yet."

Castle leans into her space, hand darting over to pluck another wonton from the container he'd handed her earlier, and she's assaulted by the scent of his cologne, mixed with the familiar coffee, and something she's never quite been able to place. It's him, she realizes, just his own scent - warm and a little musky, sweet.

She closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, he's watching her, head cocked slightly to one side, concern and affection playing across his face.

The corners of her mouth quirk slightly upward, and the worry in his eyes drifts away, leaving just the tenderness. Did he just start looking at her this way since they talking things through last night and this morning? Or is this something she's missed, been missing over the course of months or even years?

"So why haven't they been able to get him on anything?" the author asks, diverting his focus back to Ryan before the two of them gain any unwanted attention from the other two detectives.

Esposito shrugs.

"This guy - he's good. Has a perfectly respectable job as a small businessman. Making enough to get by well, but not enough to raise any eyebrows, you know?"

Beckett turns her attention to the man in the other room. He's well dressed, but his clothes don't look new. His apartment certainly wasn't anything spectacular, nor was the neighborhood. Comfortable. Safe. But definitely working class.

"So why do they think he's running drugs?" she asks.

Ryan turns away from his carton of food to look at Restrepo.

"Associations, mostly. He seems to be friends with a lot of known drug runners. And he does a lot of international travel. More than you would expect for someone of his income level."

Castle shifts next to her and she can't ignore the joy that blooms in her chest when she realizes that if she wanted to do so, she could just reach over and touch him, rest her hand on his knee, curl her fingers around his, press her mouth to his jaw.

She won't, of course, not right here in front of Ryan and Esposito. But she could. Her mind drifts to that day in the bank. She wanted to hug him, to pull him into her arms. But she couldn't. They weren't there yet. So she'd reached out and touched the lapel of his jacket. Let her hand linger just long enough to feel the warmth of his chest and the beat of his heart against her fingers. That much was enough, for the moment.

But she doesn't have to settle for that anymore.

"What countries does he visit?"

The writer's question draws her out of her thoughts. Really, she's gotta get a handle on the daydreaming. Especially once Gates is around. The captain will catch her if she's not careful, and Kate doesn't want to give the woman any reason to think she's distracted, any reason to kick her partner out of the twelfth.

"Latin America mostly," Esposito answers. "Colombia, of course, and Guatemala, Costa Rica, Panama, a couple others. He's been to Ethiopia a few times as well, and Indonesia."

Castle nudges her shoulder, and by the expression on his face when she looks up at him, she knows he's expecting her to follow his train of thought. But she's got nothing.

"You said he was a small businessman?" the writer asks, and Ryan and Esposito both nod. "Does his business have anything to do with coffee?"

Ryan looks up from his notes.

"Yeah, he's a specialty coffee roaster. How'd you know?"

Oh, now she sees where he's going.

"All of those countries are known for their coffee production," she says, feels the intentional brush of Castle's hand across her thigh when he reaches around her for a container of noodles. His little sign of appreciation to her for keeping up with him. "So it's very possible he could have had legitimate business in those countries."

Esposito shakes his head, but gives them a slight grin.

"Leave it to the two of you to know your coffee that well."

Kate rolls her eyes. Just the usual teasing about the strange connection between the writer and the detective. It doesn't seem like they've completely figured out that she and Castle are now more than just work partners and friends. At least, neither Ryan nor Esposito have said anything blatant. Well, more blatant than normal.

"So what do you think?" Ryan asks. "He may not be the guy? But why would Ramirez say it was him otherwise?"

She shrugs.

"I'm not saying it's not him. Just saying it might not be a done deal."

Castle speaks from her other side, his voice rich and velvety smooth. Rich and velvety smooth? In the observation room, discussing a suspect? Really, Kate? Oh, she's got it bad.

"He doesn't look anxious," the writer says. "He doesn't look arrogant either. Just tired, worn out."

All three detectives watch the man for a moment. He sits, elbows on the table, fingers steepled and acting as a brace for his inclined forehead. His eyes are closed, but he's clearly not asleep. Just waiting. Thinking maybe, or praying.

Kate sets down the carton she's been picking at and slaps her hand down on Castle's knee, has to consciously keep herself from squeezing, letting herself linger.

"Let's go see what we can learn," she says as she stands.

She nods to the other two detectives and Ryan holds up his carton of sweet and sour pork in a silent salute.

Castle follows her out of the room, fingers just brushing the small of her back as she turns the knob on the door that leads to Restrepo. Her eyes dart up over her shoulder to meet his at the touch, and he winks.

"Love you," he whispers.

There's no particular reason for him to say it right now. It's just a moment walking into an interrogation, like any other they've experienced together dozens of times. And somehow, that makes it mean all the more.

There's no one in the hallway, and the boys are still safely tucked away with their Chinese food in the observation room, though they'll surely come out soon if they don't see the detective and the writer enter the interrogation room. But she has enough time for what she needs to do.

She turns to face him, letting the back of her hand trail along his abdomen, feels the muscles jump under her touch.

"Love you too."

He smiles softly, and it's everything she can do not to push up on her toes and kiss him. But if she starts now, she might not stop. And the things she wants to do to him would probably be frowned upon were they to happen here in the precinct hallway.

"C'mon, Detective," he murmurs, lifting his hand to wrap around hers for the briefest moment. He clasps her fingers tightly, then drops them back to her side. "Business before pleasure."

She raises one eyebrow.

"It's just a figure of speech," he says.

She purses her lips, studies him.

"It better not be," she says in a low voice, and now his eyebrows rise. "But you're right. Work now, play later."

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