She had such a headache this morning, she could barely lift her head from the pillow when the alarm rang. Stumbled through her routine, taking three pain relievers before exiting the bathroom.

She can see him sitting at the table waiting for her. Always waiting for her. She hates that she can't seem to be wherever he is. She wonders if she will always be the one responding to his sweetness, drawing on his strength and never the other way around. She really wants to stay with him this morning, rest her head against his chest for a while. But she needs to get this out, get this thing over with, it's the best she can do for herself, for him.

"Morning," he says.

"Morning," she says approaching, she moves the chair he's got his arm around, the one he's expecting her to sit in. She sees he's a little afraid that she's somehow moving away from him, rejecting him. But then she wedges herself between the table and his chest to sit sideways on his lap, wrap her arms around his shoulders and taps her forehead to his.

He sighs and tightens his arms around her.

"Sorry," she whispers.

"'S'okay," he says, rubbing her back.

"I'm so tired."

"I know, if you would eat something, you could probably take a sleeping pill tonight."

She reaches for her coffee, "right now I need to wake up, long day ahead."


She doesn't see Greg again until she's on the stand. He's more detached than any other encounter they've had.

Once the preliminaries are over, he dives in:

"Can you tell us about a break-in at Roy Montgomery's residence earlier this spring?"

She carefully relays the details of the investigation of death of a thief in Roy's house, how she traced it to a surveilled meeting with the defendant.

"And can you identify the man on the video?"

"He's in the courtroom," Greg moves from the spot that blocks her view of Maddox, she points at him, "Cole Maddox."

And then Cole Maddox winks at her.

Her face falls and she misses whatever Greg is saying, glancing around the courtroom. This guy is way too cocky, given the details she's revealing. Suddenly she's alert, she knows this feeling, she felt it at Hal Lockwood's trial. And she realizes Greg's asked her a question, only she has no idea what it was.

"Detective Beckett?"

"Yes, I'm sorry, can you repeat the question?"

He looks hard at her and then turns to the judge, "perhaps now would be a good time to ask for a brief recess, Your Honor?"

She's startled by the judge pounding his gavel, "let's take lunch, recess until one o'clock."


No little brown bag from him for lunch today, instead they bring her some greasy burger and fries which churn her stomach just to look at, she asks for coffee instead and a cup of stale coffee is thrust in front of her five minutes before she's supposed to reappear on the stand.

She has a really bad feeling, but she's certain it's not because of the coffee.

She finishes the day with that feeling, testifying about her team's work to connect Cole Maddox with the car rental agency. What she's found in Maddox's hotel room and the chase that's led to the roof-top fight. She hasn't relayed his assault on her, yet. The assault for which he will never be charged, since Greg's already told her without her seeking medical treatment, they can't prove assault on police officer.

Once again the trial closes on her testimony and she's anxious to get home. They make her wait an extra hour in the little room. She's annoyed. She knows they have to vary things to keep her safe, but this is just exasperating.

Now there are two black-suits escorting her, she's sandwiched between them in her black suit too. The difference is that they are actually holding her upper arms, one on each side. It's beginning to feel uncomfortable. When they pass by Greg Langley in the hall, his words escalate her from uncomfortable to damn-near terrified.

"I'm sorry, Kate."

"What? What?" she's yelling over her shoulder. In moments they are shoving her into the car and speeding off.

"I demand to know what is going on," she's practically shouting from the back seat, but they aren't answering her. When they pull into a non-descript parking garage, she refuses to get out of the car.

"Get out of the car, Ms. Beckett, or I will carry you out," the black-suit finally speaks.

She can't take them, she thinks defeatedly, and they lead her up some stairs and down a hall to a tiny apartment. Greg Langley is seated at the two-chair kitchen table.

"What the hell is going on?" She refuses to sit when he motions. He shrugs his shoulders and starts.

"I can't take the chance, Kate. The chance that you won't make it through this trial. We need your testimony to win this case, and I'm not going to risk your life, even if you are willing to. You are in federal custody, which means you agreed to testify in exchange for our protection."

"You'll do anything to win, won't you Greg?" she says smugly, "but you forget, I don't have to testify . . ."

He cuts her off, "if you want to see Castle, you'll testify."

She stares at him a moment, sucking in a breath.

"He's a federal witness now too, Kate."

Her stare turns icy, she's just now realized how helpless she really is.

"Fine, Greg, bring him here, let us stay together, and I'll testify like we've discussed."

"Testify first, and we'll see."

"I have done EVERYTHING you asked . . ." but he's cutting her off again.

"This doesn't interest me, Kate. Be ready at 7:30 tomorrow morning."

She's lost.

Goodnight," he pauses at the door.

"Fuck you, Greg."


She aches for him, tosses and turns, keeps waking up, reaching for him. She wakes to the sound of one of the black-suits calling her name. There's no indication of time in this windowless apartment, although the clock in the kitchen says it's already 7:15.

"Fifteen minutes, Ms. Beckett," he calls from the door. She's slept in her underwear, and briefly contemplates what would happen if she just refused to get dressed. She does the best she can with what she finds, pulling her messy hair into a quick chignon, seeing another gray suit hanging in the closet.

"Now, Ms. Beckett."

She's leaving without coffee and starting another day without real food.


It catches up to her two hours into the discussion of the fight on the roof. Greg asks her details on her own training in hand-to-hand combat, her own personal sparring routines, assessments of Maddox's abilities, her injuries after, his words to her and what she infers they mean. It's eleven o'clock when they call for an approach to the bench, leading to a discussion in the judge's chambers. She's led off the stand and into a conference room closer to the chambers. One major difference between this room and the one she's waited in before, there's a conference phone sitting in the middle of the table. She doesn't hesitate snatching up the receiver.

"Ms. Beckett," comes the warning from the black-suit.

"Please," she begs, "what is there to trace? You know who I'm calling, you know they know where I am, where he is, just a minute?"

And then she pathetically adds, "please."

He looks uncomfortable.

"Please, less than a minute," she repeats.

His nod is almost imperceptible, and she quickly dials his home phone. The black-suit can only hear one side.

"It's me."

She's immediately emotional at whatever is said to her.

"They tell you about it?"

"He's a bastard."

"Yeah, just stuff about Maddox, you don't need to hear."

"I can't sleep without you."

"I don't know, haven't started cross yet."

"I know, but I need you." She's openly crying, between sobs, whispering.

"I love you. I love you. I love you."

The black-suit hits the button, disconnecting the line.


Greg's annoyed that she's disheveled in front of the judge. There's some debate over her ability to assess Cole Maddox's fighting ability. The defense is trying to make the case that Maddox is not this soldier of fortune, gun for hire. Judge Felty is grandfatherly-looking. He asks her in front of both legal teams, questions about her physical training, and then the question turns personal.

"Detective Beckett are you quite well?"