Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

When Beckett opens her eyes, everything seems warm and familiar. Maybe because it's the fourth time she has woken up in this bed since she fell into it. Might be the fifth? Sixth? She's lost count of everything. Castle is flat on his back next to her. Her right leg is hooked over his left and her head is on his chest. She raises it a little to kiss him in the general vicinity of his mouth. "Castle?"


"Are you awake?"

"Yes. I think. I might be dead."

"Not possible. No dead man could do what you just did."

"I think you might have killed me, Beckett. With that last, you know, thing."

"You told me you loved that."

"I did. I do. But I have never had this much sex, especially such incredible, mind-boggling sex, in — what time is it, anyway?"

She stretches over him to check the clock on the nightstand, and rolls back onto him. "Five-thirty."

"A.M. or P.M.?" His eyes are half open and he pushes a lock of her wild hair behind her ear.

"A.M. We came in here at five in the afternoon. So, twelve and a half hours."

"Have you ever had this much sex in twelve and a half hours, Beckett?"


"Was that Plan D? You never told me what Plan D was."

"Oh, God, Castle, we passed Plan D about ten hours ago. I think we got to Plan X."

"X? Was that X? What does X stand for?"

"X as in the previously unknown, Castle. Never tried it before."

He chuckles happily. "Do you think you can walk?"

"Probably not."

"Good, then we can just stay here." He sighs contentedly and closes his eyes again.

"You conking out on me again, Castle?"

"Hey, I did not conk out on you."


"I did not conk out on you, at least not before finishing, which is what matters."

"That's true. That's deliciously true." She relaxes completely on top of him for a moment, but not too long.

"Ooh, what are you doing, Beckett?"

"Nipping your nipple."

"It's a little tender there."

"Tell me about it." She kisses his chest, and when she begins to feel his breathing even out, knows that he's asleep. She's craving coffee, so she turns on her side, sits up—not without a little giddiness—and looks around for her top. She'll just pull it on and head for the kitchen. Oh. Right. Her coffee-spattered top is on the living room floor. She'll wear his NYPD AND DON'T YOU FORGET IT tee shirt instead. It will smell of him and he'll like it on her. She looks around and sees nothing out of place except one pillow collapsed against the wall. Oh, yeah. That. She giggles at the memory, second time she's giggled since she came through the front door. That has to be a record.

Another memory pushes that one aside: she and Castle had taken off all their clothes in the living room and she'd thrown his shirt into the kitchen sink. Oh, shit, Alexis. No, he said Alexis was sleeping over at a friend's house since it's spring break and she has no school this morning. Thank God. And who knows where Martha is, but it's not here, so it's safe for Beckett to go to the living room naked and pick up her soggy shirt on the way to the kitchen. She walks through the office door and sees—holy shit. It's his clothes. Her clothes. Well, her bra and jeans and his sweatpants. All of it in a neat stack. The panic she felt yesterday is pouring back in, and she tries to calm herself with deep breaths. Maybe the tidiness fairy came in through the window and did it, and put her shirt in the sink to soak with Castle's.

She's trying to envision the tidiness fairy when she sees something else: a hot-pink Post-It note that's curling slightly on top of the stack. Oh, God. The tidiness fairy has red hair and favors clothes in colors that do not occur in nature. Beckett leans over to read the note. "Good morning, darlings. Don't worry about me, I'll be asleep until noon, at least." She squints. What is that at the end? A winking smiley face.


If you could choke to death suppressing a scream, Beckett would be forever motionless on the floor. Instead, she's hightailing it to the bedroom, where her leap onto the bed jolts her partner awake.

"Castle! Get up, get up, get up. We have to leave."


"Take these, or some jeans, and put them on, right now," she tosses his sweatpants to him and quickly puts on her bra and jeans. "Which drawer has your tee shirts?"


"Stop saying 'what?' and tell me where your tee shirts are."

"Polos, Henleys or regular? Cartoon ones or—"

"Just tell me where the fucking shirts are."

"Fucking shirts? Oh, those are in a special place—ow!"

She's kneeling next to him, but lets go of his ear. "It's your mother."

He looks alarmed. "What about my mother?"

"I was going to the kitchen to make some coffee and I found our clothes in a perfect little stack by your office door, with this note on top." She sticks it on the back of his hand and watches horror arrive in his eyes.

"Is that a winking smiley face?"

"Yes, Castle, it is. And I cannot begin to calculate how long it will take for the mortification to leave my body. Now, please get up and get dressed because we are going to my place right now. Drawer?"

"The second one."

Ninety seconds later, they're presentable, or at least dressed, and at the front door. She grabs her bag, and he gathers up his phone, wallet and keys.

A minute after that, they're striding through his lobby.

"Morning, Detective. Mister Castle."

"Good morning, Mickey," they say as one.

There's a taxi right at the corner. Castle opens the door and they both slide in. Once Beckett has told the driver her address, she does some more breathing exercises. After they've gone several blocks, she gives her full attention to her partner. Her partner, partner.

"God, Castle," she whispers. "Look at you."

"I'm looking at you, Beckett."

"No, I mean you look like you just got laid."

"I did just get laid. Many times. Many, many memorable times. Unforgettable times."

"Shut up."

"Look at you, Beckett."


"You're radiant. You're glowing. You're incandescent. Everything about you says sex. Lots and lots of of sex. Oodles of sex." He picks up her hand and kisses it. "Don't worry about it. Oh, and we're here." With the cab at the curb, he fishes a bill from his wallet, puts it in the plexiglas drawer, thanks the driver and gets out, pulling Beckett behind him.

She's on the sidewalk, taking the keys from her pocket when she turns to him. "Wait, wait. Did you just give the cabbie a hundred dollars?"

"Yup." He's bouncing on his toes. "Just sharing the love, Beckett."

She'd roll her eyes—and she hasn't done that in days—except it's adorable. He's adorable. "C'mon," she says, this time pulling him. In the elevator, and walking down the hall to her apartment, he's pressed up against her. While she tries to unlock the door, he puts both hands in her back pockets and squeezes. She yelps. "Don't! We have to get inside before anyone sees us."

It's only when they're in that she remembers. Remembers that she left in such a rush yesterday afternoon that she had put nothing away. No tidiness fairy had flown in overnight to tidy up. No, no, everything was right where she had left it. Everything being, front and center, the bimbo board. At some point during her ruminations she had even returned all the drivers' licenses to it, so the full array is in view. She spins around and moves to cover Castle's eyes with her hands.

"Don't look."

Too late. He's already agog, and peeling her hands off his face.


She does the only thing that seems sensible: rushes to the board and tries to cover it up with her body.

"Not gonna work," he says, picking her up and moving her to one side. "What is this? Oh, my God, it's the twelve women. Kyra, Meredith, Sophia, Chelsea, Gina, Willow, Irena, Ellie, Natalie, Carolina, Serena, Jacinda."

"The Dirty Dozen." See? The brain filter is still off, or shredded beyond repair.

Castle snorts. "That's what you called them?"

Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, so she confesses. "Full name is The Richard Castle Dirty Dozen."

"I don't know what to say, exactly."

"I do. Don't say anything, stop looking, and please, please, please, please, please never mention this again in your life. What I hope will be your very long life."

"That's only five 'pleases'." He's still gawking at the board.

"Okay. Please, please, please, please, please, please, please. There. That's twelve."

"You know, this should be ten, not twelve. No, nine."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"For the sake of accuracy. I never slept with Natalie or Jacinda and not really with Irena."

"Okay, I don't want you to define 'not really.' I'm already embarrassed beyond all limits. I'm in a new territory of embarrassment. A continent of embarrassment."

"I have to say, though, this is really impressive. This is exactly like a murder boa—. Oh, my God, Beckett, did you want to kill them?"

"No. Yes. No. Look, it's not really a murder board."

"What is it then, other than the Dirty Dozen?"

"I can't tell you."

He steps towards her and wraps her in his arms. "You know I can find out."

"No, you can't," she mumbles into his shirt.

"I can. Because I knew your mind before, knew a lot of things, but now I know your body. Your b-o-d-y. And I am going to tickle this out of you. If that doesn't work, I will bring you to the edge of orgasm twelve times and leave you there. Tie you up and leave you there."


"I didn't hear you," he says, pulling back a little so he can see her face. "Would you repeat that?"

"OKAY. The Bimbo Board. I called it the Bimbo Board. Satisfied?"

She has never seen or heard anyone laugh as enthusiastically and uninhibitedly as Castle does then. Eventually he's laughing so hard that he grabs on to the board to keep from falling over, which only sends it, and him, crashing to the floor. Several of the little magnets fly off, scattering copies of drivers' licenses across the room.

Beckett crouches over him, worry in her face and voice. "Castle, are you hurt? Are you all right? Can you move your legs? Your arms?"

"Hold on," he gasps. "Let me see." He grabs her and pulls her tightly to his chest. "Yes! I can move. And once we have our clothes off I can really move."

She swats feebly at his chest and rolls over so that she can stand. "I need coffee first."

"Do you have the real thing or just swill?" he asks, resting on his forearms.

"Swill. I'm going to run across the street and get us something good, okay?"


Less than five minutes later she's back with two large coffees and two cinnamon buns. "Did you miss me?" he asks from his perch on her sofa.

"You and your threats?" she answers, setting the bag on the counter. "Absolutely not. Stay there. I'm coming over."

"No breakfast in bed?"

"No. I want those sheets to be crumb-free when we hit them."

Castle walks to the sofa and props himself up on one end; she sits between his legs, her back against his chest. They're silent and content as they sip coffee and gorge themselves on the cinnamon buns, and once or twice she licks the icing off his fingers, which gives them both considerable pleasure and X-rated thoughts.

"You know what, Beckett?" His voice is very quiet. "You're right, those twelve women do have something in common, but not what you thought. With the exception of Kyra, every single one of them want or wanted something from me. You never did."

"I do now," she says, craning her neck so that she can see him properly. "I want you."

"I know, and I want you. You have me. But they wanted something else: my money or my power or my access to power, the hot restaurants. You never wanted any of that. That's the answer to your question, what they have that you don't. Greed. They're greedy."

Beckett rolls over, gets up on her knees and kisses him with everything she has. "Thank you, Castle."

"No need to thank me."

"Yes, there is." She rolls over again to settle between his legs. After a minute she looks up at him again. "I do want something from you, Castle."

"Oh yeah? What?"

"Your Ferrari."

"Esposito and Ryan want it, too. You'll have to wrestle them for it."

"I thought you didn't want anyone but you to wrestle me."

"That's true. The Ferrari turns you on, huh?"

"It's a sex machine, Castle."

"I thought I was a sex machine."

"You are. That's why I think we should go to your garage, get the Ferrari, drive way out in the country, park under a tree, and have wild sex in the car."

"With the top down?"

"Of course with the top down."

"You do know I'm referring to your top, not the car roof."


"I love your thinking, Beckett, but it's still too cold for that. Can we do it when the weather's a little warmer?"

"Sure. Especially if you let me drive."

"I'll let you drive some of the time. This is a fifty-fifty partnership, right?"

"Right. But what about now?"

"Didn't we already establish that it's too cold right now?"

"Yes, but I meant here. Indoors. In my bed. I know your motor's revved up, Castle. I can feel it. I'm lying against it."

"Beckett, your language!"

"Language, my ass. Can I drive?"

"Where's your bed?"

"Right through there."

"I'll race you."

A/N That's the end of this little adventure. Everything worked out! Enormous thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, followed and favorited.